


Bones

by tprillahfiction



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Mirror Universe, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Graphic Sex, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, M/M, Mental/Emotional abuse, Mirror Universe, Mirror Universe Big Bang 2014, Not Canon Compliant, POV First Person, Physical Abuse, Rape, Some Het, domestic abuse, dub con, graphic depiction of medical situations, graphic depiction of murder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-17 22:20:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 38,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2325227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tprillahfiction/pseuds/tprillahfiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonard McCoy struggles to find meaning to his life and more importantly, survive after joining the ISS Enterprise as its ship's physician.  </p><p>Star Trek TOS  Mirror Universe Canon AU.   My entry for the Mirror Universe Big Bang 2014.  Written in 1st person, McCoy's POV</p><p>Warning: Character Death, graphic depiction of rape from both victim and rapist POV, graphic depiction of violence, murder, medical situations, gore. Graphic sex. Some Het.  Canon AU.</p><p>Pairings:  MU!Kirk/MU!Spock, MU!Spock/MU!McCoy, MU!Kirk/MU!Spock/MU!McCoy, MU!Kirk/Various, MU!McCoy/Various</p><p>Canon divergent--Canon AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

 

 

 

The weight of the body bears down on me, crushing the air out of my lungs. The hands roam. It’s going to take me. I can’t let it happen. Not again. 

My hands flex and flail. I make contact with and grab the dagger hidden underneath my body. 

It’s assumed that my legs and wrists are bound tightly onto the table, making me immobile, but I’m not. Not anymore. The binds are loose. My arm jerks up. My thrust is strong. My aim is certain and steady. The blade finds it’s target. 

I stab and stab and stab and and stab the chest. I thrust down and down. I move up to the neck. Slice the throat from ear to ear. I sever the carotid, slice through to the spinal column.

Blood spurts onto my face. Into my eyes. Onto the sheet. Onto the bed. Onto my naked body. Splashes the deck.

The body flops over and leans to the side of me. Slithers off of me, lubricated by the blood. It falls and lands on the deck with a thump.

I am victorious. 

I lay back, panting, staring at the ceiling. Clutching the dagger to my chest, over my heart.

A figure enters. Stops short. Looks down at the body. 

Spock’s voice, faint. Barely can hear him through the rushing in my ears, the pounding of my pulse: 

“Dr. McCoy, you have killed Captain Kirk.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Stardate 2266.75**

 

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

I blink my eyes open, they're scratchy and irritated. I feel around for the comm switch next to my bunk. My voice is husky as I answer: “McCoy.”

_“Dr. McCoy, Commander Vlair wants to see you in his quarters.”_

“Can I take a shower first, or is it an emergency?”

There’s a chuckle on the other end. “ _You can make yourself presentable first, Doc._ ”

“Acknowledged, tell the commander I’ll be there shortly. McCoy out.” I rub my face as I toggle the switch.

*

Commander Vlair flashes a warm smile as soon as I enter his cabin. “You look a little hung over this morning, Doc.”

I chuckle at that. “Can you blame me? That was some party last night, Commander. You brought quite a lot of new provisions aboard. Romulan Ale, especially. Really enjoyed that. Thank you.” We’d been going without much for quite some time. Morale's been low, bout time we’d had some decent food and coffee aboard.

Commander Vlair’s smile suddenly vanishes. “Right. About that, Lieutenant.”

Lieutenant? Strange, nobody addresses me according to my military rank--it’s always been ‘doctor’ or ‘doc’ the entire time I’ve served aboard. Three years now, I’ve been here on the Solaris. We’re a division of the Terran Empire but on the fringes of it. So we pretty much do what we want with little interference. We mostly haul cargo and ferry the occasional passenger. Our ship is small, only thirty crew members. Things are pretty informal around here. Nobody notices us and that’s the way we like it.

“What’s with the fancy title, Commander? Am I in trouble?” I snap my fingers. “Oh no. What drunken mischief did I get up to last night? Am I on report? All I have to say to that is: ‘I don't remember’.”

“Sit down, McCoy,” Vlair motions towards a chair. “Have a drink.”

“It’s a little early for boozing it up, don’t you think?”

“You’ll need a drink, Doc, after I tell you the news.” Vlair stands up, fetches a glass, pours me a healthy serving of Romulan Ale. He lights up a cigarette. At the odor I sneeze and fan the smoke away before the air circulator manages to diffuse it.

“Must be some news.”

“Oh it is.” There’s unbridled fear on Vlair’s face. Sends chills down my spine. Was there some new, sensitive mission? Some trouble from the Empire? Or one of the enemy? Vlair’s smoking that cigarette as if his life depends on it, hanging on every drag, sucking in the smoke deep into his lungs.

He watches me a moment, a flash of something else in his eyes. Almost seems like, regret?

Vlair leans over, picks up a piece of real paper. “Might as well give this to you.”

“What is it?”

“Read it.”

I grab it, look it over. “I’m being...promoted to Lieutenant Commander? What the hell for? Don’t need it.”

“Yes, you will. You’ll be starting your new assignment.” Vlair gulps and continues: “Aboard...the...Imperial Star Ship Enterprise. Soon as they reach us you’ll be transporting aboard.”

My head darts up, my eyes widen. “The what?!”

“The ISS Enterprise. Flagship of the Empire.”

“I know what the ship is...but...why?”

Vlair’s fiddling with something, anything, a stylus, a piece of decorative rock anything to avoid meeting my eyes. “Well, Captain James T. Kirk needed a physician. Last guy in the position...well...he was killed. Name was...uh...Dr. Boyce...he was known as ‘The Butcher’. They found him in a pool of blood. His neck had been sliced from ear to ear. Since then they’ve been without a ship's doctor.”

I take a huge sip of my drink. “But why me? I’m nobody.”

“Well...Kirk put the word out to various ships...asking anybody for a physician. They were willing to hand over top credits for you.”

“For me?”

“Apparently you have quite a reputation for being a damned fine doctor.”

“So, you...sold me? To the Enterprise?”

Vlair looks down at his hands. “I’m sorry...we desperately needed the credits.”

I stare at him open mouthed.

“Our supplies were low, Doc...you know that.”

“I know that,” I reply with gritted teeth, “but--”

“Who knows when we would be able to replenish anything. You brought top credits so now we’ve been able to purchase what we needed.”

I scowl and mutter: “Hence the celebration last night.” I find myself asking him: “So now what the hell are you gonna do for a physician?”

“I heard that you’ve been showing Mr. Grey some medical techniques...in your off hours.”

“Yeah, but--”

“Well, we’ll have to rely on his expertise for the time being. Until we can properly replace you, if ever.”

My hand tightens on my glass enough to nearly break it. “Commander, I’ve showed Grey a few procedures but he doesn’t have any real medical training like I do! What if there’s an emergency?”

“We’ll have to hope that there isn’t.” Vlair drums his fingers on the desk. “Nothing to be done about it now, Doc. Your life has been signed away. Found out in your file that you’d gone through formal Empirical training quite a few years ago.”

“That was enforced training from the prison! I managed to get parole.” And far away from the Terran Empire’s clutches and into the fringes, or so I’d thought.

“I’m sorry, Doc. What’s done is done.”

*

I stand in the transporter room of my old ship, clutching my black duffel bag. My commander waves ‘bye, bye’. I nod back to him. I don't hold a grudge against him. 

Before I leave, Vlair slips two items into my bag. A going away gift. 

Maybe things won’t be so bad over there on that big ol' ship. Maybe I’ll enjoy the chance to practice medicine in a new environment. Surely the Enterprise sees a lot of battle. I’ll have plenty of injuries to treat. Ship will surely visit a lot of planets. I’ll have new alien diseases to find a serum for, worlds to explore, opportunity to perform science experiments. Maybe I can write a textbook in my off hours. Have a chance to make some new friends--

The beam hits me. The Solaris disappears. I experience that telltale dizziness and nausea. That fear I always have that I’ll never reform. That I’ll be stuck as floating molecules for eternity.

My body begins to solidify. The ISS Enterprise transporter room fades into my consciousness. 

I wait until the beam lets go of me before I can glance around.

There’s a huge emblem of the Terran Empire proudly displayed on the far wall. A muscular, blond haired man stands in front of the console, his unwavering gaze like a laser beam of dominance. He’s wearing a sleeveless gold tunic. Medals galore on his chest. Golden sash around his waist. Leather boots up to the thighs. Knife and phaser worn prominately. 

Behind the console there is a Vulcan, well I am assuming it is. The being has graceful pointed ears, black hair, slanted eyebrows, angular face, greenish complexion. He also sports a goatee, dark inscrutable, heavily kohl penciled eyes, clad in a metallic blue tunic. He looks very formidable.

“Greetings, Dr. McCoy,” the man in the golden tunic says. “I am Captain Kirk.” He speaks so smoothly, smirks as he does so, but there’s no humor in those hazel eyes. I am immediately unnerved by him. I hope he doesn’t smell my fear but I’m certain he does. 

“Greetings, Captain Kirk. It is an honor to meet you and to serve aboard the Enterprise.”

Kirk glances down at my attire. “Is this what you wear aboard those outpost ships?” 

I follow his gaze to my rather informal short sleeved green tunic, loose black trousers and knee high boots. My lack of a phaser and dagger. “I’ll probably need to change my uniform, right, Captain?”

“I should say so, McCoy.”

I dart my head up at his clipped tone. “Yes, Captain.”

I make a move to step down from the platform but he halts me with an outstretched hand. “No, no. McCoy. That’s not how we do it.”

“Sir?”

“I’m the captain, one needs to show some respect.”

“You have my utmost respect, Captain.”

Kirk turns his head slightly towards the Vulcan. “Show him how it’s done, Mr. Spock.”

Mr. Spock gives the captain a salute. Closed fist, arm moving from chest then stretched outward. Kirk turns back to look at me, an expectant expression in his eyes. 

I obediently perform the salute. 

“Very nice, McCoy. You will salute me, my first officer Mr. Spock and any other officer who is above your current ‘Lieutenant Commander’ rank. There isn’t many, only three of us. Commander Sulu is head of security. You’ll see him, later on.”

I salute again, then perform another one for the Vulcan. 

“Excellent. You learn quickly, McCoy.” Kirk indicates my duffel bag. “What have you got there?”

“Oh, this? This is just my personal effects.”

Kirk snickers. “Hand it over.”

“My bag?” After a moment I do. Kirk riffles through it. 

“There’s a few medical supplies and my toiletries and a--”

Kirk holds up a holoframe. “Who’s this?”

“My uh...my family.”

He holds up a small book. I hope he doesn't open it. Its a real paper diary--a gift from a friend long ago. He doesn't bother with it, puts it back in the bag. He pulls out a bottle of Romulan Ale and a carton of cigarettes. “Cigarettes are contraband.”

“I know, Sir. I apologize. The bottle and cigs are going away gifts from my former commander.”

Kirk shoves the cigs back into my bag but tucks the bottle under his arm. “This is mine now.”

I nod. “Of course, Captain.”

*

The captain, Mr. Spock and myself move through the corridors as Kirk gives me the grand tour. Various officers of lower rank and unlisted crew salute the three of us all the way. I can’t help but notice the darkness, the looming shadows, the chill aboard, the imposing vibe. 

The Empire’s insignia proves to be everywhere: Gleaming uniform pins, painted on the bulkheads, the doors, sometimes even running along the deck at our feet. The tension in the air is so thick you can slice it with a knife. So much formality. Such a contrast to my former home.

I meet the chief engineer, Mr. Scott. He shakes my hand. Smiles warmly at me. I’m heartened by this, seems a nice enough guy. Maybe I’ll ask him to have a friendly drink later, game of cards, be nice to have a friend aboard.

Suddenly the captain barks out: “Mr. Spock, finish the tour with Dr. McCoy. Show him the bridge and get quartermaster to assign him a uniform and a berth.”

“Yes, Captain.” Spock salutes him. 

The captain strides off. I watch the man leave, before I turn back to the commander. “Actually, Mr. Spock, I’m eager to see the sickbay and the labs, if you don’t mind.”

Spock eyes me a moment. “As you wish, Dr. McCoy.”

*

Sickbay isn’t what I’m expecting. It’s dark, deserted, cold, cramped, not at all like a working infirmary should be. Supplies are strewn around, boxes haphazardly in the corner. Nothing is sterile. The blue field does not work. Scanners uncalibrated. Dust covers every nook and cranny. Lab equipment lays on the deck. There’s no chief physician’s office. There’s only a desk pushed up near the bulkhead in the tiny medical lab with a viewer and an assortment of PADDs and computer tapes. 

“How long have you gone without a doctor?” I ask Spock.

“Approximately two standard weeks.”

“And the place is in this bad of a condition?”

“I have not been down to visit sickbay in...awhile,” Spock informs me.

I continue my visual inspection while we walk into the recovery ward. It’s also tiny. Three beds. The linens are stained with blood. Disgusting. I’d hate to see what happens if we’re under attack. “Where is my nursing staff? My assistant? I thought they would be here to meet their new department head, Mr. Spock.”

“Nursing staff? Assistant?” Spock seems truly confused. He raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah. I’ll be requiring staff to assist me, help me get this place in order. This big of a ship’s crew complement--there’s no way I can practice medicine all on my own. My former ship, yes, there was only thirty people aboard, but a crew of 300! I can’t be spread that thin. It’s insane.”

“You are the only medical staff member aboard the Enterprise.”

“Me? I’m it?” I’m incredulous and it shows in my voice. “No other doctors? No nurses? Not even an orderly?”

“We have never before deemed the additional staff necessary. More than one physician aboard is illogical.”

“How is it illogical, Mr. Spock?” I’m seething by this point, the ridiculousness of this situation. “What if there’s a ship wide emergency? Severe injuries? Who will help me with surgery?”

Spock eyes me with a cool expression. “In that event their corpses are dealt with. We have an incinerator in the lower decks. Come, Doctor, I shall show you how to utilize the chute.”

I sure as hell don't want to see the chute to the incinerator so I stand my ground. “You don’t understand, Commander,” I’m still insisting to the unwavering Vulcan. “We don’t want it to get that far...I’m not gonna stand around and watch a man die. I’m going to do everything within my power to save their life!”

“Unnecessary. Upon their deaths, they will be replaced,” Spock replies. “Everyone can be replaced aboard the ISS Enterprise. Save for Captain James T. Kirk.”

“Why can’t Kirk be replaced?”

“There is no captain like James Tiberius Kirk,” Spock informs me. “There has been none before him and none will succeed him. You would be wise to concentrate your loyalty upon the man.”

“Oh...I am, Commander Spock. Believe me, I am.”

A voice rings out behind us: “Excellent Dr. McCoy.” It’s Captain Kirk. Spock and I both salute as he saunters in with a smirk. “And how do we like our sickbay?”

“With all due respect, Captain. The place is a mess.”

“Well, then, McCoy. You get to put a little apron on and clean it up.” Kirk seems very unconcerned about the state of the place. "Get down on your hands and knees and scrub away."

“And some assistants--”

“Assistants?”

“An additional doctor or a nurse or an orderly...someone to help me out here.”

“Oh you need some staff...is that it, McCoy? Some lackeys?”

“Well, yeah.”

Kirk laughs then slaps me on the back. “Oh, you are funny, McCoy. Isn’t he funny, Spock?”

“Affirmative, Captain.”

“How is that funny, Captain?” I demand.

“Doctors are hard to come by. Expensive. You are it, Baby.”

“Well then, a little more illumination in here would be nice. I can barely see in here to work.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if it was bright and airy and all pretty and everything?” Kirk replies. “Afraid I can’t swing that. Power is at a premium aboard this ship, can’t waste it on a trivial matter such as light. Learn to squint so you can see. Give you even more crows feet and wrinkles than you already have. Gives you character, McCoy.”

I scowl in response.

“You’re still out of uniform,” Kirk notes.

“Yes, Captain. Hadn’t gotten that far yet.”

“Well, then, Doctor, I suggest you get on that, immediately. In fact let me assist you. Mr. Spock, inform quartermaster, get him the blue velour tunic with the Lieutenant Commander’s stripes and all of its accoutrements.”

“Affirmative, Captain.” Spock goes off to do the Captain’s bidding.

I roll my eyes a little at that, the captain is more concerned with uniforms instead of this joke of a medical ward.

“Is there a problem with being in the proper uniform, McCoy?” Kirk asks.

“Not at all, Captain,” I quickly reply.

“Didn’t think there there would be.” Kirk flashes me that odd little smirk once more and I feel another chill running though my soul. 

Spock returns with a bundle in his clutches. “For you, Doctor.”

I take it from him. “Much ablidged, Mr. Spock.”

He raises an eyebrow again. 

“I meant, ‘thank you, Commander‘,” I tell him and for good measure, throw in another salute.

“Commander,” Kirk says. “Why don’t you head on over to your post. I’ll take care of the Doctor’s uniform and berthing.” He smiles again. 

“Yes, Captain.” Spock turns on his heel and vacates the sickbay. 

Kirk turns to me. “What are you waiting for, Doctor?” He motions at me.

“Uh, I’ll just go into the head and change.”

“Oh...” Kirk smiles again. “I don’t mind if you do it here.”

“I’ll only be a moment, Captain.”

I enter the bathroom-- it is of course filthy-- and quickly dive into the new uniform. Undershirt with the Empirical Insignia, blue velour tunic. Knee high boots and tighter fitting black trousers.

I come out of the bathroom to where the captain is waiting. “Well,” he says. “Very nice.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

Kirk hands over a phaser, standard issue and a dagger. “You won’t be issued another knife--you lose this and that’s it. You’ll be penalized five credits per diem for being out of uniform.”

“Acknowledged, Captain.”

“Here’s your pins. Allow me.” He slides a hand up my tunic to my chest, puts them on. Three of them. Pats me on the chest. “Ah." He glances down and tuts. “You didn’t properly tuck in your undershirt. How about I help you out.”

He dives his hand down into my trousers before I can gently remind him that I’m perfectly capable of straightening myself up. But the hand dips lower and lower. My breath hitches as it goes even lower, snaking into my underwear. The fingers reach my penis. They circle it for a moment. I feel the warmth of his hands. Kirk darts a look into my eyes and smirks. 

I’m shocked into silence during this contact but I remain frozen. I sure as hell don’t dare move away. 

Eventually he lets go, slides his hands out of my trousers. He smacks my ass and gives another small smile. “You’ll do nicely, McCoy. Here is your golden sash.” He holds it out to me. “Tie this nice and tight around that slim little waist, McCoy.”


	3. Chapter 3

My new cabin is as cramped as I expected it would be, but at least I don’t have to share. By the looks of everybody, if I had a roommate I’d have to sleep with one eye open each night, lest I get my throat slit in my bunk. 

Speaking of that, the captain had made a point of informing me that the senior officers aboard this ship have personal guards posted outside their quarters. Guard's pay is taken out of our personal credits, but it was advisable to have one no matter what the cost. Spock’s guard is a Vulcan slave sent from his family so he’s the only one not paying for one. If I wish to employ a guard, I am to put a notice out to the enlisted men who might be up for the position or I can contract out for it and await the next transport. I elected not to hire a guard. Was it really that necessary? I didn’t think so. I figure that I can demonstrate to the crew that I am here to help them, wouldn’t step on anybody’s toes. I hope they realize that. I’ll make sure to stay out of anybody’s way, avoid any romantic or political entanglements. Keep my nose clean and my ass out of trouble.

Hearing my wishes, Kirk had chuckled and said: “Go guard-less at your own risk, McCoy. You’re a fool.”

“I’ll take my chances, Captain.”

That evening, I busy myself by unpacking my meager possessions from my duffel bag. I stare at the holoframe a moment. Put it on the table next to my bunk. I get out my diary. Take a real pen and write: ‘First day aboard the ISS Enterprise.‘ I finish writing, hide the diary in a drawer. 

I wonder what to do next. It’s early yet and it’s eerily quiet and I’m kinda lonely. Wish I had some of that Romulan ale about now. I hit the comm switch. “McCoy to Scott.”

“Scott here.” He looks and sounds distinctly annoyed at the interruption.

“Oh...my apologies Mr. Scott. Didn’t mean to bother you.”

“What is it, Doc?”

“You uh...up for a game of poker? Glass of brandy?”

There’s hands circling around his chest. I can’t quite see who it is snuggling up to him, but’s it’s obvious that he’s busy. “Don’t think so, McCoy. And y’d be wise to be on call for the captain, anyway,” he says.

Available? For what? For sex? Is that why the captain had molested me in the sickbay? But I don’t let on to Scott. “I haven’t heard from the captain tonight,” I reply. “Anyway, sorry to bother you.”

“Aye. But, it’s still early. And yee’d best be available for the captain,” Scott says again, almost seems like a warning. “The...uh...other doc, he kept himself...available. For the captain. Always. Y’understand.”

I’m desperately hoping he wants me on call in case of a medical emergency. “Sure, Mr. Scott. I’ll bear that in mind. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Scott out.”

Sure enough, right after I sign off from Scott, the bosun’s whistle makes a noise. 

I hit the switch. “McCoy, here.”

“ _Dr. McCoy_.” It’s Kirk. I salute him over the viewer. “ _How are you settling in_?”

“Just fine, Captain.”

“ _Good. Good_.” There’s a moment’s pause. “ _I’d like to invite you over for a friendly little drink. In my quarters_.”

I swallow at that. My heart begins to pound. I want to say ‘no thanks’ but it doesn’t look like the invitation is optional. Maybe it will be in fact, be only a drink. Maybe the incident in sickbay was a fluke. “Yes, Captain. When would you like me over?”

He chuckles. “ _Right now, McCoy, when did you think I wanted you? Next week_?”

“No, Sir.”

“ _Very good, McCoy. Suggest you take a shower and get over here. Let’s say, ten minutes._ ”

“Acknowledged, Sir.” I salute again. “McCoy out.”

*

For all the ship’s faults, my own personal bathroom is surprisingly nice. Relatively large compared to my sleeping area. Black and white tiled shower, chrome fittings. The shower features fresh water. Interesting. Never had that on my old ship. I wonder about the logic of such a set up--water on a starship must be at a premium-- yet here it is in the chief physician’s bathroom. Maybe it's a perk of all the senior officers? I take full advantage of it.

Soon I'm standing in the captain’s cabin, feeling like a caged mouse, staring at the enormous panther about to strike.

The captain’s quarters are opulent, fit for an emperor. They’re almost gaudy. I suppose that’s what Kirk truly is, the Emperor of the the Enterprise. Plush carpeting instead of the standard hard deck. In one corner there’s a huge bed with a blood red duvet and huge pillows in the sleeping area, partitioned off with an intricate brass lattice. There’s a huge wooden dining table on the other side, replete with an obnoxious candelabra. There’s large elaborate tapristies hung up on the bulkheads, antique weapons, an odd alien harp on another wall. Smack dab in the middle there is a real oil painted portrait of Adolf Hitler: Fuhrer und Reichskanzler of the World, Terra formerly known as Earth, circa early twentieth century. 

Kirk’s eyeing me. “How about a drink, Doctor?”

“Don’t mind if I do, Captain,” I reply most gratefully.

He pours out a measure of Romulan Ale for me from the bottle that my former commander had given me. “Cheers,” Kirk says as he clinks my glass. “Here’s to a long service from my new ship’s physician.”

“Thank you, Captain."

I turn back around to study the portrait of Hitler. It’s positively huge, covers the space from deck to ceiling. 

“Hail the fuhrer,” Kirk says from behind me.

“Hail the fuhrer,” I repeat back to him. “That’s quite a portrait.”

I turn back to face Kirk. He licks his lips. “Isn’t it? The fuhrer of the unified Terra. We have a lot to thank him for.”

“Yes, Captain,” I reply, politely.

“Nazi Germany almost lost World War II. Can you imagine? The former United States and its allies almost had us beat. But we rallied back. Hail the fuhrer."

"Yes," I reply. "I can't imagine what Terra would have been like had we lost the war."

"You know, the fuhrer once proclaimed that every man and every woman must be married with lots of children, eight at the minimum, for the good of the Empire. I hope to be married, myself, someday. Shame we don’t have that law anymore. Now marriage is optional. But, it's up to us to continue the master Terran race."

"I'm sure anyone would be honored to marry you and bear your children," I tell him, mostly to boost his ego.

"Tell, me, Doc. Are you married? Lots of kids?”

“Huh? Oh no. I’m not married.”

“Your ring. That looks like a wedding ring. On your pinky.” He reaches out and touches it.

“Yeah.” I take another sip of my drink. “It is.”

"So you are married."

"Well...I was," I admit. "Not anymore."

“Was it a man or a woman...you were married to?” 

“A woman.”

“Was she...” Kirk licks his lips. “Killed?”

I reach up and scratch the back of my neck. Kirk watches every movement I make. “No,” I reply.

“Did she die of a horrible disease? Accident, perhaps?”

“No, she’s still alive and well.”

“Oh, so you’re...what’s the word for it...divorced?”

“Uh...yeah. That’s right.”

“Didn’t know divorce was allowed on Terra.”

“In certain instances it is, Captain.”

“Oh. I see. Then why do you still wear a ring if you’re divorced? Divorced means you’re no longer married. You only wear a wedding ring if you’re married, McCoy.” Kirk seems to feel the need to spell out the obvious to me.

“I know that, Captain.” I sip on my drink. “Just haven’t gotten around to removing it, yet.”

“I see. So, why’d you get divorced?”

“Uh...with all due respect, Sir. I don’t really like to talk about it.”

“Why not?” Kirk smirks. “Oh right. You spent time in prison. For murder, wasn’t it.”

I take another sip of my drink. “You’ve obviously been reading my personnel file, Captain.”

Kirk folds his arms, doesn’t reply to that. “You had some...Empirical training in prison. Didn’t you.”

“Yes, Captain. That was one of the conditions of my parole, that I join the service. When I got out, I managed to find an outpost ship--they needed a physician.”

“So, who did you kill to land yourself in prison?”

“I...don’t like to talk about it. I’m sure it’s all in my file if you’re that curious."

Kirk grows silent. After several long moments, he says: “We do things...in the line of duty in the service of the Empire that no one else on Terra gets away with. You understand, McCoy? Not unless you’re Hitler or Stalin, or Gronung the Magnificent, Napoleon, Caesar, Ivan the Terrible, all those heros in history. We as officers of the empire must maintain terror in the universe, or the Empire is doomed. We must kill. We must take what is due us. We must exploit the weak. We must defeat our enemies. That is the law of the Terran Empire. That is what the fuhrer held dear all the way back to the twentieth century and it holds true today.”

All I can say to that is: “I see, Captain.” 

Kirk sets his drink down, continues to study me, inches closer to me. “You smell good, McCoy. Use that shower gel I left for you?”

I cough a little bit. “You left that for me, Sir?”

“Wanted you to uh...be a little more comfy. It’s my welcome aboard gift.”

“Thank you, Captain. I appreciate it.”

There’s a heavy silence as he stares a hole through me. “I’m sure, you’ve had quite a bit of experience with certain things...in prison. A lot of experience. Come here, McCoy.”

“Uh....” is all I can get out, before he grabs hold of me, flips me around and pushes me so that I’m bending over the table. He’s groping my cock and then my ass over my trousers, then yanking my pants down. 

My breathing’s increasing. “Captain...wait...no...I don’t think....”

“Hush, McCoy,” he says. “Shhh.” He sticks a finger into my rectum, dry. I hiss at the pain. “You’re tight, Doc. Fuck, am I gonna have to get the lube out?” 

I manage a grunt in response. I hope he does or else he’s gonna seriously injure me. I’ve never done this before, never been fucked. Oh I’ve given plenty of blow jobs in prison. I’d never really thought I had been attracted to men, only women, but suddenly I realized I enjoyed pleasuring a man, the feel of his body. I’d had a consensual relationship with another man on board the Solaris, but we’d only had oral sex, mutual masturbation, never anal sex. 

I’ve never done this, didn’t really want to do this, not now, not with him, but it looks as if things are about to change, I was going to be taken whether I wanted to be or not. 

He's dropped his pants just enough to expose himself. He lubes my ass, shoving in two fingers, roughly stretching me, then he’s pushing and shoving his thick, hard cock through my tight ring. I try not to cry out. I grit my teeth. There’s tears in my eyes.

“Goddamn, so fucking tight, Doc.”

I’m staring at my hands on the table, wincing with every push into me, willing him to hurry up and finish-- the pain is excruciating-- when the door swooshes open. 

I look up. My eyes widen. It’s Commander Spock. 

I try to wriggle away from the Captain, but Kirk keeps me there, pinned. Hands on my hips. “Oh, no you don’t, Doc.”

Spock walks over to right front of me. Stands there, with arms folded, watching us calmly, stares at my soft penis. I blush in humiliation. I look down at my hands again. 

Finally Kirk comes, then yanks himself out. I lean over, breathing heavily. 

He smacks my ass. “You’re bleeding, Doc. What’s the matter, haven’t done this in awhile, huh? That commander over there on the Solaris, impotent?”

I’m not gonna tell Kirk that was my first time. Not gonna give him the power. 

I pull up my trousers in silence, feeling his semen dripping out of my ass. 

Kirk drops his trousers and underwear to the floor, steps out of them. His now flaccid cock drips seminal fluid on the deck as he moves over to Spock. He slides his hands on the first officer’s waist. Plants a kiss on his mouth. “Mmmm,” he says, when he breaks away from the Vulcan. 

I get myself in order and watch them curiously before the captain notices my staring. “Get the fuck out of our quarters, McCoy.”

“Yes, Captain.” I hightail it outta there.

*

I’m back in my shower, scrubbing--clawing-- myself clean, not using that shower gel. I’d foraged around and found a bar of soap in my bag. 

I exit the shower, dripping wet, put the too small towel around my waist. I take the shower jell, hide it in a drawer. I’ll be goddamned if I ever use that shit again. I could use another drink but have nothing in my quarters.

I turn off the water and I hear something from the cabin next door--Kirk's quarters. Slapping, hitting, it sounds like, somebody is being punched. There's something breaking, a grunt. Then silence.

*

I decide to walk the ship’s silent corridors to clear my head. I feel the throb of the engines beneath my feet. My ass is--it's hurting so bad. Really should go fix this in sickbay. I can still feel the cum dripping. I head into the lift. "Sickbay," I call out.

Right before the doors shut, a man enters, wearing a red velour tunic with commander’s stripes. There’s a long scar badly healed on the side of his face. I note the Terran Asian features. 

“You must be Commander Sulu,” I tell him.

He darts a look over at me. Glances at my lower ranking stripes. “Who the fuck are you?”

“You haven’t heard?” Odd. “I’m the new ship’s physician.”

He smirks. “Oh. Really.”

“Really. I’m Dr. McCoy. Nice to meet you.”

He doesn’t say, ‘likewise’ or ‘nice to meet you too’ or anything friendly at all. He simply studies me with a calculating expression on his face. 

“I could fix that,” I tell him. Motioning.

“Fix what,” he spits out.

“Your scar. Make it look better.”

He touches it, then chuckles. “Fuck you, Doc.”

The doors open up at deck 6 and he glides out. 

*

After I repair the damage--not as severe as it feels--I manage to locate the former doctor’s liquor cabinet. Pour myself a drink. 

I’m not going to sleep. No way.

Place is filthy anyway, needs to be cleaned right now.

It'll help keep my mind off of things.

This sickbay is gonna gleam and shine if I have to stay up all night to do it.


	4. Chapter 4

“Thick tiprogrilliam shielding hides our enemy on the planet below,” Spock reports from the transporter room scanner. "Completely camouflaged from our view." 

“Never mind. We’ll sniff ‘em out.” Kirk seems very confident.

I’m standing in the transporter room waiting to go down. The room is full of security men at the ready. The air around me is electric.

Kirk slaps me on the back. “First dirtside mission with us, McCoy.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Make sure you don’t fuck it up, alright?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Captain.”

*

“Fuck it,” Kirk hisses in disgust as he places his phaser onto his belt with a click. “I’m in the mood for blood.” He draws out his knife from the sheath, the metal glinting. He barks out yet another command: “Spock, tri-corder reading.”

“No reading of any Terranoids in the immediate vicinity, Captain. However as I'd indicated aboard ship the shielding prevents--”

“I know about the fucking shielding, Mr. Spock. Split up.” Kirk motions to the both of us who flank him on either side. “Stealth attack. I want at least fifty of those throats slit by each of you within the hour. No less. We have these bastards right where we want them.” 

There’s a murmur of affirmation from Spock. We move a few steps down the corridor as a trio then halt where it splits into three narrower but identical passageways. 

“Spock you take the right. McCoy, left. McCoy put that fucking phaser away. Get that dagger at the ready.” 

“Yes, Captain,” I whisper in unison with the Vulcan. I place my phaser onto my belt, then reached down my leg near my boot, towards my blade, feel the coolness against my palm as I grab it.

“Think you can handle it, McCoy?” Kirk turns his head. There’s that usual sneer plastered onto his face. 

I nod obediently. I’m a doctor not a murderer, but it doesn’t matter now. I have no say in this. Right now this very moment is the time before I kill, then after this mission it will be after I have killed. I have never before deliberately taken a man’s life--no matter what those murder charges said about me. No matter how horrific and vicious prison life was, I’d never killed anyone. 

This hand to hand combat that I am about to engage in, so utterly barbaric but I must do it regardless of my feelings or risk the booth.

I creep forward, knife in hand. 

There’s a figure in the shadows. Alone in blissful ignorance. He doesn’t seem to be armed--which is downright odd and a stupid waste of a life. 

He has to die, whether I want him to or not. Whether he wants to or not. 

I sneak up behind him and without a sound, I reach around, make contact with his neck. Sink my blade in deep, cutting up as I do so. There’s a loud gasp from my victim. I let the body drop. That was easy. I stand and watch the body bleed out. Watch the eyes roll up into the back of the head. Ignore the gurgling sound from the mouth. The twitching of the body. Ignoring every instinct in my mind to kneel down and comfort poor wretch in his last throes.

The blood spurts everywhere, on my hands my face, my uniform. The odor is heady, I feel sticky. I sink down next to the dead body onto the ground. I’ve just killed a living being. A living being that did not deserve to die. 

I hold up my hands, staring at the blood. 

I don’t know how long it’s been but my communicator suddenly beeps. I don’t want to answer it. I ignore it. My hands...I don’t want to answer it covered in this sticky mess. Now the blood is drying on my uniform. My skin is sticking to my trousers and tunic. My goddamned skin is sticking to my tunic.

I don’t want to get up. Want to stay here forever.

There’s footsteps coming towards me. I hope it’s the enemy’s brother, coming to avenge the death. Kill me like I have just killed. Please. 

The boots stop in front of me.

“Would you look at this.” It's Kirk. He crouches down then stands up and taps my body with a boot. “What the fuck is the matter with you, McCoy.” 

I can't stop shaking. Nausea wells up in me and I’m puking. It splatters everywhere. Kirk's feet jump back a metre. 

“Holy shit, McCoy, you’re shaking like a leaf--your bones are rattling. You led me right to you they were rattling so loud. Bones. Your bones I can hear them, fucking rattling. Get up you piece of shit.” Kirk comes close and kicks me again. “Get up!”

I’m still trembling, clutching my bloody dagger in front of me. I shake my head violently, ‘no’. 

“Get up!” Kirk kicks me harder. “You’ve killed only one filthy being and you’re shaking like a fucking coward. Get up, McCoy. Get up, Bones!”

I rasp out: “no.”

“Oh...this is lovely. Spock?”

Spock’s feet come jogging up. “Captain?”

“Look at this piece of shit.”

“Affirmative, Captain.”

“Get his ass up.”

“Acknowledged.”

I’m still looking down as Kirk stomps off. The Vulcan crouches before me. Wipes my face with a cloth. I don’t see him, I keep staring at my bloody hands. 

Somehow the first officer has gotten me up. Slipped my dagger in my holster and escorted me back to the landing party coordinates.

*

Commander Spock and I materialize in the transporter room. He steps down from the pads. But I’m still standing on the dais. Frozen. 

Spock calls up to me: “Dr. McCoy.”

I nod. “Yeah.” I look down at my hands again.

Spock comes up on the platform again, grabs onto my arm, leads me down the steps to the console. He sighs and hits the switch. “Spock to Captain Kirk.”

“ _Kirk here_.”

“Request permission to escort the doctor to his quarters.”

“ _What the fuck is wrong with the coward?_ ”

“He is a bit unwell.”

“Fine. You do that, Mr. Spock. Put _Bones_ to bed.”

“Acknowledged.”

*

I seem to be able to walk to my quarters unaided, meaning the Vulcan doesn’t have to carry me there, but I’m reeling, shaky, saying nothing, still staring at my bloody hands. 

We enter my quarters. I stand there, just inside the door, unmoving. 

“Doctor,” Spock says.

“Huh?”

“Perhaps your mental state might improve if you changed uniforms. Put this one in the laundry chute.”

“Yeah, you’re right, Commander.” But my hands flail at my zipper on my tunic. I feel Spock’s fingers unzip it for me, then divest me of it. Again I feel his hands, take off each boot, set them aside, then unfasten my trousers. I just let him pull them down. 

He hits my bare leg. “Assist me, Doctor.”

“Huh?”

“Step out of your trousers.”

“Oh, yeah.” I finally do that for him. I stand there like an idiot in my black teeshirt and underwear and socks. “How come you’re so clean and tidy?”

“Clean and tidy?”

“Yeah, your uniform doesn’t have a drop of blood on it. You killed too, down on that planet.”

“Yes. I am quite efficient with a dagger,” Spock says.

“Oh. You’re old hat at this.”

“Of course. I would not be first officer of the flagship of the Terran Empire if I was not.”

“Well excuse me if I’m not quite so...talented at murder.”

Spock watches me a moment. Raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps you might be refreshed with a bath.”

“A bath?”

“Affirmative. Your watercloset comes equipped with a bathtub.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that.”

“Shall I show you?”

“Sure.”

Spock demonstrates to me how it converts over from a mere tap of a button. He remains there watching, amusement in his eyes, as I relax enough to fill up the tub with water. I figure he’s already seen my cock from what happened last night so I don’t hesitate to remove my underpants and black shirt and socks and get in with him looking on. 

I recline in the tub, welcoming the warm water and close my eyes. 

“Will you be quite alright, now?” Spock asks.

“Yeah. I’ll be fine."

If I open my eyes, I spot Spock watching me. Aparently wondering what to do about me next. If I close my eyes he disappears. I open them again and he's inching towards the doorway.

"Spock?"

He returns to the tub. "Doctor?"

"I must look like a fool to you."

Spock says nothing. But he flips down the toilet seat and sits down.

"I’ll tell you something, Commander," I say. "It’s a shock when I’ve never done that before. Never taken a man’s life.”

His dark eyes flick over to meet mine. “Never killed, anyone? Fascinating.”

“No. Not ever intentionally.”

“You’ve killed accidentally?”

“No, I’ve been working on a man and had him die on the operating table--held somebody as they’ve died in my arms--but I’ve never slit somebody’s throat and stood idly by while he bled out. Never done that.”

“For everything there is a first time.”

“Yeah.” 

After a moment, Spock says: “I was eight.”

“Huh?”

“The first time I killed. I was eight years old,” Spock says. “Every young Vulcan must go through training, much like you on Terra. Eight is the age that I took my first life.”

“Must have been a severe shock to you.”

“It was. I felt... regret. However, I could not express the emotion. I was not... allowed to. Privately I mourned his death, but I...got over it soon enough. We Vulcans must kill without remorse. The emotion I had felt was illogical. It took a great many more deaths at my hands to rid myself of the affliction.”

That puts a chill through my spine. “I don’t think killing is logical.”

“Terror must be maintained or the Empire is doomed.”

“Right. Well, we didn’t do these things on our outpost ship--slitting throats--I never needed to do such things. I mean I had Empirical training but never had to use it. My upbringing in Georgia--”

“You did not learn to kill in the Hitler Youth Program?”

“My mom...she didn’t put me in that.”

Spock seems downright aghast at this. “Every Terran child must enroll in the Hitler Youth Program. It is required by your laws.”

“Yeah, well, we managed to avoid it. We lived out in the boondocks--the countryside--never were bothered by the Gestapo that far out.”

“I see. And now it is to your detriment.”

“I suppose so.”

Spock thinks for a moment, then leans forward. “I would not mention this to James Kirk. That you were never in the Hitler Youth.”

“Why not?”

“I do not believe that information would sit well with him.”

“Duly noted, Mr. Spock.”

Spock stands up. “I must go. You are certain that you will be alright now?”

I nod. “I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

“It is unnecessary to thank me.” The bosun’s whistle sounds. “Excuse me.” Spock walks from the bathroom to my viewer and flips the switch. “Spock here.”

Kirk’s voice blasts out: “ _Don’t tell me you’re still there with Bones. What are you two doing_?”

“I was just leaving, Captain.”

“ _Get the fuck outta there. And tell the coward I want to see him in my quarters in ten minutes_.”

“Acknowledged, I will inform the doctor. Spock out.”

Spock comes back into the bathroom but before he can open his mouth, I tell him: “I heard, thank you, Mr. Spock.”

There’s a nod from the first officer. He turns on his heel and leaves.

*

He beats the living shit out of me. I'm spitting out blood. My lip is split. But at least he doesn't fuck me. He tells me I don't deserve his dick. That's a victory where I'm concerned. I hope I never deserve his cock again.

My new nickname is 'Bones'. Not so bad, is it?

After he shoves me out of his quarters, I head to my bathroom, get cleaned up. I look in my mirror. My face. Holy shit. 

I hear more noises from the bulkhead where I share walls with the captain's quarters. More slapping, punching, yelling, breaking of glass. Grunts. 

I go to my carton of cigarettes, pull one out. Light it. I cough a moment until my lungs become acclimated. I blow out the smoke. Helps me feel a little better. But a drink would be perfect. 

I leave my cabin, enter the lift, go up to sickbay, get the brandy bottle, carry it back to my quarters, all the while smoking that same cig. I draw a couple stares but nobody says a word. 

I get back into my cabin, take out my diary. I hear a thump against the bulkhead. 

I finish the cigarette, stub it out. Light up another one. I down the drink. Pour myself another. I write in my diary: 'It's my birthday today, happy birthday to me.' It really is. My birthday. Who cares, right? I do. I care.

I smile to myself. "Happy Birthday, Bones." I drink the booze straight from the fucking bottle.

If I pass out, I won't have to listen to any more of those awful noises coming through the bulkhead. 

*

Planet Dif’Mertha proved to be rich in dilithium deposits. That much is certain. Everything’s cleared to beam down twenty redshirts to collect it all. And we do take it all. 

The sight of the new cargo in our hold makes James Kirk happy, the Empire happy and all is well. For a time.

Well, now, I see that there’s actually a genuine smile on the man’s twisted face.


	5. Chapter 5

The next evening, I’m invited (or rather commanded) to join Kirk and Commander Spock in the officer’s mess for the evening meal. I’d shown up five minutes before 19:00 but since nobody is allowed to eat until the captain arrives, I had to stand with my tray and wait until the captain finally ambled in five minutes late and sat down. 

The food on this ship is disgusting, reconstituted, a shock for the Empire’s flagship. I expected better, but I guess I shouldn't have. 

I take a bite of my food. It’s cold now. But it doesn’t matter. Since coming aboard, I rarely eat a full meal these days anyway. 

I say nothing and stare at my pinky ring as Kirk’s talking animately at the Vulcan. The first officer nods politely at a comment every so often. 

Kirk continues to laugh his ass off. By the sound of things I’m probably the butt of his joke or something, I dunno. But I’m not paying attention. 

Kirk suddenly seems to become aware that I’m not looking at him. Not following the conversation. He elbows me, then taps me on the hand to bring me back. “Hey Spock. Bones here is so pussy whipped he can’t even take that goddamned ring off.”

I glance up at the captain. “What?”

Kirk reaches over to steal my bread and butter. It’s the only thing I was fixing to actually eat and we only are allowed to have one slice of bread. He laughs before he takes a huge bite. His mouth is still full when he says: “Your wedding ring. Dipshit.”

I glanced back down at it. “Oh....”

“‘Oh...oh...oh’...spit it out, Bones. Sound like a bitch having an orgasm. What did I tell you, Spock. Bones is pussy whipped.”

I look back up, meeting Mr. Spock’s hooded eyes. No amusement in them whatsoever. Of course there wouldn’t be. 

I humor Kirk with a slight smile along with a: “Oh, yeah. I suppose I must be.”

“Say it, Bones. Out loud. Right now.”

“Captain?”

“Say you’re ‘pussy whipped’. I want you to tell Mr. Spock here just what kind of a man you are. Go on. Say it. Loud so I can hear it too. At attention.”

I clear my throat and stand up to full attention. “Sir.” 

An enlisted man in a red jumpsuit walks past, collecting trays. He salutes the captain. The captain gives a bored salute back not taking his piercing gaze off of me. 

“Bones.” Kirk’s hazel eyes grow cold. He keeps his tone even. “You tell Spock here what kind of a man you are, or I’ll have you inform the entire ship via loudspeaker. Don’t be defiant, it’s not good for discipline, is it, Baby? What do you chose?”

I look over at our goatee clad science officer and say obediently: “I am pussy whipped, Mr. Spock. Just as the captain has indicated.”

Kirk breaks out into a guffaw. He smacks me on the ass then elbows the Vulcan. “Straight out of the horse’s mouth, Right Spock?”

“Right, Captain,” Spock says.

“Will there be anything else, Sir?” I ask as politely as I can--desperate to get the hell out of there. 

“Go. Out of my sight.” He waves me away. 

“Thank you, kind Captain, Sir. By your leave.” I salute and head towards the exit.

But before I can reach it, Kirk bellows out: “I’ll expect you in my quarters, 22:00 hours, for a drink, Bones.” 

“Yes, Captain.”

*

I have another bottle of brandy from the sickbay stash, thanks to ‘The Butcher’. Wonder what the hell he did to get his ass killed. Maybe Kirk got tired of fucking him. Maybe that's what's gonna happen to me, eventually. Maybe it should be sooner rather than later. 

I take a drink straight from the bottle. I wish for the thousanth time that it was Romulan Ale. At least Romulan Ale has numbing properties. 

I glance at the chrono. Fifteen minutes to go before I am due to head to the captain’s quarters. Where I am expected.

Doesn’t matter if I have things to do around here. Duties to perform. Maybe tidy up sickbay some more. Sweep the floor. Do some charting. Plan those physicals. Doesn’t matter if a patient might come by with an ailment for treatment--but Kirk knows the truth. No member of crew ever comes by sickbay for treatment unless they absolutely have to. And so far nobody has come by. Well only the corpses.

I fool myself into thinking that maybe this time it will be just a friendly drink like Kirk had said. Maybe Spock will talk some sense into him, leave me the hell alone, but there seems to be no reasoning with Kirk. 

But I’m not the only one who is abused by the captain--no no no not gonna think about the times I’ve heard horrible noises through the bulkhead--

*

“You’re late, Bones.” Kirk’s clad in his robe. Bare chest, bare feet visible. I can see in his eyes, he's ready for me. And Spock. Spock's wearing a robe too. I exhale a shaky breath. 

“My apologies, Captain.”

Kirk doesn't offer me a drink. In fact he gets right down to business. "Bones."

"Yes?"

He tilts up my head with a finger. "Your bruises make you look beautiful."

"Thank you, Captain."

"Take your uniform off, Bones."

I quickly do as I am told. Dart a glance at Spock.

"Don't look at him, Bones. Look at me. Look at your captain."

I look at the captain. He's got an erection poking out of his robe. I'm aware of my breathing. 

"Bones?"

I stand before him, nude, and vulnerable. "Yes?"

"When's the last time you've had an orgasm?"

I open my mouth, then close it, then tell him the truth. "This morning. In the shower."

"Jacking off?"

"Yes sir."

"Who do you think about when you masturbate?"

"I don't know."

Kirk smiles. "You don't know."

I'm still aware of my breaths.

Kirk says: "I want to see you cum right now. Go on. Play with your cock."

My breathing increases--I'm aware of Spock staring at me. But I keep eye contact with the captain. I swallow. I grab hold of my cock. 

Kirk's watching intently. "Looks good when he plays with it, doesn't it, Spock?"

"Affirmative."

I can't help it but my cock is hardening in my grasp, with my stroking. "Faster," Kirk commands.

It isn't long before I'm cuming, gasping. Spurting onto the deck but I try to collect the semen in my hand. 

"What a mess, Bones."

I hope he will allow me to leave but he says next. "Spock here is turned on by you."

I dart a glance into those dark eyes and they're filled with something--I don't know. 

"Why don't you satisfy him."

"How would you like me to do it, Captain?" I ask obediently.

"Take him into your mouth."

I kneel before the first officer, open up his robe. His penis is huge and flaccid. I take him into my mouth, but he doensnt get hard. I keep trying. I look up at him, dick in my mouth. That look in his eyes--it's hatred. 

He never does get errect. Kirk eventually grows bored, yanks me away from him. "Get the fuck out of our quarters."

He doesn't have to tell me twice.

*

I sit at the lab table in sickbay. Smoking a cigarette. Sipping my brandy. Staring at nothing in particular. The place is as deserted as always. Darkened. It’s cold in here. Even with my long sleeved tunic and my undershirt on, I shiver. I’ve got sickbay all obsessively cleaned up and organized, mostly. Save for some of the areas in back.

I'm writing in my diary. 'I want to go home.' But where is home? This my home now. 

Nobody leaves the Terran Empire, unless it’s in pieces. My soul was sold to the devil a long time ago.

I lay my head down on my arms. I’m getting a little dizzy from all the booze and cigs. I might as well just sleep here on the desk.

Suddenly, I hear a noise. A tap. Or maybe a footstep. 

I raise my head. 

Mr. Spock is standing right in front of me. The hair stands up on the back of my neck. 

One of Spock’s hands is tucked behind his back. 

This is it. He’s hiding a knife behind that back, I know it. He’s come to slice my throat. My breathing increases, in spite of myself. Yes, I want to die but when you’re faced with death like this you--

Oh shit. This is it. This is it. This is how I die. At the hands of Commander Spock. Same thing that has happened to 'The Butcher' will happen to me.

Obviously the captain had been displeased at my performance last night. I couldn't get the Vulcan hard. And Kirk sent his lackey to finish me off. Well, if that’s how it’s gonna be, so be it. All the better to get the hell of this ship. My heart is positively pounding in my ears but I remain motionless and waiting. Poised for the strike. I’m not gonna fight him. Spock's easily strong enough to overpower me even if I do try to fight. But I don’t want to struggle. I want it to be an easy, quick death. 

Both of my hands are firmly planted on the table. Nobody is here to protect me. 

I bark out a harsh, bitter laugh at the Vulcan. He’s still standing there like an idiot, ramrod straight, not doing a goddamned thing. Those dark orbs planted on me, unnerving me more than the killing will. “Well, you pointy eared bastard! Get on with it.”

“Get on with what, Doctor?”

“You know.” I make an impatient hand gesture. I’m done with this fucking around. This dancing around the issue here. “Whatever the fuck you’re fixin’ to do, hobgoblin!” I turn my head for him, baring my neck to him. Offering myself to him. “Hit the carotid, I’ll bleed out in seconds. If you do it right. Right under the ear. I mean you could phaser me, but it’s not as satisfying to a Vulcan as murder with a knife, now is it?”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Spock suddenly spins on his heel and walks away from me. 

I stare after him a moment. I must say I now am experiencing severe disappointment that he hadn’t sliced me in half right there. I had been ready to die. He has something in his hand, but it doesn’t appear to be a knife after all. 

“Wait a second, Commander. Stay right there.” I spring up out of my seat and race over to where he stands. Not caring at all what he might do to me in response. “What ya got there?”

He hides the object it in his fist and I can’t see it now. “Nothing of consequence, Doctor.”

I tut at him. “Mr. Spock. Stealing from my sickbay? I have a right to know what it is.”

He turns back to look at me, staring into my eyes and suddenly there’s a fear stabbing my heart. The way he’s looking at me, it’s as if he is peering deep into my soul--different to how Kirk looks at me. I know fully well that he now despises me with every fibre of his being. 

“Dr. McCoy,” Spock replies with devastating, eerie calm that now is turning my stomach. “You are fully aware that you have no rights aboard this ship. None of us do. We live in service to the Terran Empire.”

“I know that, Mr. Spo--” I halt and stare. 

Spock undoubtably sports a contusion, what’s commonly known as a black eye. Under the right eye. 

I reach up to touch his face but he jerks his head back from my reach. I immediately drop my hand. “Alright.”

After a moment, Spock opens up his fist to reveal one of my small dermal regens on his palm. He motions that I should retrieve it from his grasp. 

I shake my head. “With all due respect, you keep it, Commander. I assume you require it for something.” I lower my voice even further. “That particular regen is overkill for the face, however. Here, I’ll find you the correct one. And be careful with it, if you don’t know what you’re doing you can cause additional damage.”

“Additional damage?”

“Affirmative, Mr. Spock.” I smile warmly at him--or at least I attempt to-- in an effort to lighten the tension but it does nothing to help matters. “Hey uh...how about letting me treat you? Give me something to do for a change around here. Gets kinda boring.”

Spock will not smile back, that much is certain and I highly expect him still even now to either stab me with his dagger or to turn on his heel and walk out. But no, he’s standing there at attention. 

I inform him: “I do not talk, I do not squeal, Commander Spock. Not even under torture. I never saw you, after this visit. You have my word.” I give him the most sincere salute I can.

“I am not to be saluted now. Not here,” Spock hisses.

“Why not? You outrank me.”

“It is not appropriate right now.”

“Forgive me.” 

Spock seems to suddenly relax somewhat. He hands over the regen device. 

"Are you consenting to medical treatment, Mr. Spock?"

"Obviously."

I wave him towards a biobed in the ward. “Come into my palour. Right this way, Mr. Spock.” The large scanner is suffering from a complete lack of use and still isn’t calibrated properly. My fault really but it hasn’t mattered yet. I retrieve the small type II scanner. He hesitates. “Well? Ready when you are.”

“Doctor,” Spock’s voice remains at a whisper. “I would prefer that you perform the examination in the cubicle.”

“The private cubicle?”

“Affirmative.”

“It’s not properly set up yet. It’s used for storage. Mainly.”

“That is of no consequence.”

“Alright, right this way.”

We reach the cubicle. I open up the door and follow him inside. The room is a mess, boxes and equipment lying around. Dust everywhere. However the biobed is free. 

I pick up a scanner, blowing on it, the particles go flying. “Sorry. Room hasn’t obviously seen much use.”

“Shall I disrobe?” Spock enquires. The tone of his voice seems different now--less threatening.

“No I don’t think it will be necessary for a--” I stop speaking as he unties his golden sash. “You don’t need to--” 

Spock holds up a hand to silence me as he unfastens his trousers, then removes them, then removes his silk tunic and undershirt. He now stands before me naked. 

“The injury is...down here, Doctor.” Spock indicates his backside.

“Oh. Alright, fine. Well, lean over so I can examine you, please.”

Spock does as I ask, bends over for me against the biobed. Anybody who might have walked in here on us in this private room might think I’m fixin’ to fuck him. I stuff that thought right the hell down.

There are several green slash marks present on the buttocks. I scan the area. Then I perform a visual inspection. I snap on some gloves. “May I?” I ask him, Indicating that I need to touch him. He seems surprised that I asked. But he nods his permission.

His back and buttox appear to have been gone over with a bullwhip and slashed with a dagger. I investigate further. Additionally there is considerable damage to his anus and rectum. They had been also been slashed with a dagger. He’s lucky he hasn’t bled out. The injuries are crusted with dried blood. There is fresh green blood still seeping out of it. The injuries also appear to be infected. I bite back a gasp at the sight. “How long ago did this happen?”

“I am not at liberty to say.”

“Care to disclose who did this to you?”

“Negative.”

It doesn’t matter as I already have a pretty good idea. “How are you even able to sit down in this condition?”

“I am a Vulcan.”

“As if that explains everything.”

“Of course. I am able to control the pain.”

“Gotta smart quit a bit down there.”

He’s becoming impatient. I see it in those eyes. I’d better knock off the crap. “Doctor, are you able to repair the damage?”

“Affirmative, Mr. Spock. Get up there on the bed for me. Lay on your stomach.”

“Acknowledged, Doctor.”

I reach over and grab a hypo of MS. “Before I begin, I’ll give you something for the pain. Morphine, your Vulcan hide can handle that.”

“Unnecessary, Doctor.”

“Hey, Mr. Spock. You asked me to treat you. How about, I give it to you anyway.” I press the hypo into his arm. 

I notice him visibly relax into the biobed. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“Don’t mention it.” 

Spock keeps his eyes shut throughout the procedure. He’s deathly quiet and so am I as I set about quickly and thoroughly repairing the damage, then treating the infection. This is not a time to get caught.

During the session, however he grabs my wrist and informs me point blank that it is important for me not to repair the visible marks--the back and buttocks, the whip marks and the slashes. Leave those alone. 

I understand completely and I let him know that. The aggressor will check to see if those are still there. I am only to repair the hidden, more painful damage. 

And I make sure of that.


	6. Chapter 6

The next evening I find myself sitting in Captain Kirk’s quarters, sitting glumly at the other end of the huge dining table, watching the currently shirtless man gorge himself on chocolate cake and Romulan Ale. 

The obnoxious candelabra has every candle lit and it casts gruesome shadows over the captain’s face. He's only one aboard ship who has his own personal chef and galley. It’s connected to his quarters. He’s the only one aboard the ship who is allowed to eat freshly baked chocolate cake. I can smell it. Makes my mouth water. I wonder what would happen if I suddenly lunged for it. Scooped it all into my mouth. I know what would happen. 

“Mmm, Bones.” Kirk smacks his lips during each bite. The cake is smeared all over his face and his teeth, blacking a few of them out, but he doesn’t seem to mind it a bit. I try not to puke. “Mmm, this is good, Bones. Spock. Delicious. Very satisfying.” 

Spock sits in the corner, stone faced, will not meet my gaze. He simply stares into nothingness. He looks almost defeated. Almost as if he’s in a daze. There is a split lip on him. That's new. At least the black eye is fading. 

I wonder if Kirk ever found out that I’d fixed up Spock. I wonder if there is more internal damage to repair. 

“Stop staring at my fiance, Bones,” Jim says, spitting out some of that cake. “Makes me think you want to fuck him.”

I whip around, aghast at that-- both at the accusation and the new development in their relationship. 

“Oh, yeah,” Kirk says. “Spock and I are getting married. I informed him of the happy news this afternoon.”

“Congratulations,” I tell him and Spock. I salute the both of them. I’m not feeling it in my heart but I’m faking it all the way. The abuse Kirk doles out to this Vulcan is none of my business anyway. 

Kirk salutes the picture of Hitler. “The fuhrer would be proud of me and my alliance.”

“Hail the fuhrer,” Spock replies.

Kirk eyes me until I follow suit.

*

A week later and we are orbiting a new planet. 

I’ve already finished up that carton of cigs. So I drum on the desk. I’m desperately craving them now. I sip at a glass of brandy then flip on the sickbay viewer. The world showed itself to be red and swirly and boring. At least it is to my eyes. 

Nothing going on down here below decks, so perhaps like a fool, I walk to the nearest turbolift and head up to the bridge. 

The bridge was one area I had not seen yet since I’ve been here. 

The lift doors open up to crackling excitement in the air, Kirk shouting red faced at the viewscreen: “You have something I want!”

The Terranoid being on the screen blinks back at us. He has an odd uniform on. I think for a moment trying to place the alien. I hear Spock call out that this Terranoid is part of an endangered species. Not too many of these left. Their sun exploded so the remainder had been forced to colonize other planets. 

These particular Terranoids are not our ally, not a member of the Empire. Therefore we as the Terran Empire have carte blanc to take what we want from them, endangered species or not. 

“Perhaps,” the Terranoid says, unruffled by Kirk’s anger and demands. “We could set up a treaty. Yes. We would be more than willing to supply you with dilithium under a friendly charter agreement.”

I glanced over at Kirk and something in his face has changed. His features have become clouded, more sinister. He licks his lips. Smirks a little. This Kirk is far more frightening then the blustering, bristling James T. Kirk I just saw. This Kirk is the one I see in his quarters.  
“Oh now,” Kirk says to the screen. “Treaty? Brilliant. I love that.”

“Excellent, Captain Kirk. I invite you and your crew to beam down and join me for a lavish dinner, tonight, at the palace. We will discuss the terms. Our entertainments are not duplicated anywhere else in the universe. You will not be disappointed.”

James Kirk claps his hands together. “How wonderful! Tonight then! We’ll eat and talk. Treaty agreement. It’ll will benefit the both of us.”

“I knew you’d understand, Captain Kirk,” the Terranoid replies with a joyous smile. “I look forward to meeting you.”

*

Kirk, Spock, myself, Scotty, Sulu, Uhura, Chekov and an assortment of security men beam down planetside to partake of the offerings. Consume the food, watch the bawdy entertainments, hump the ladies and boys on offer--actually Kirk had informed me just before beam down that I wasn’t allowed to fuck anybody and Spock refrains from doing so--he would have incurred the captain’s wrath. 

Spock and I are instead assigned guard duty outside the captain’s bed chamber. Spock stands stony faced as various moans, groans, giggles and shouts filter through the door. I keep glancing over at him at a particularly loud noise with the captain’s voice attached.

Hours later, Kirk staggers out, wiping his face with his wrist. He touches Spock’s face with his hand and I note Spock’s horrified reaction to that before he can compose himself. The odor of pussy must have been pungent on the captain’s fingers. 

“Oh, man, her cunt was so tight,” Kirk gasps out. “Forgot what it’s like to be with a woman. A real woman.” He glares at Spock and I for emphasis. “Not somebody who acts like a woman.”

The first officer who seems distinctly unruffled at that. The eyes prove to be as black as a shark, equally as cold and hard.

“Time to get down to business, Bones, Spock. Enough play time,” the captain says as he adjusts his prick in his trousers. 

The captain gathers up the red shirts, Sulu and Chekov and Uhura. Then quickly, methodically and without preamble, our landing party proceeds to systematically butcher the Terranoids in their beds. Me too. I slit countless throats. As Spock had said, for everything there is a first time, and if one does it enough, one gets over the shock. 

At least I wait until we were back aboard ship and in the safety of my quarters, in the bathroom to start my retching and heaving and puking. I sooth my shaking hands with brandy, take a long drag off of a badly needed cigarette. 

I walk over to the holoframe. Pick it up. "Well, Jo. Now I'm a killer. Aren't you proud?" I set it back down. Then I shove the frame in my drawer. I pull out the diary. I write down the stardate and nothing else.

There's another thump against the bulkhead. 

*

I'm in the captain’s quarters again the next night, “celebrating” the successful planetside mission. Kirk is drunk, more so than I have ever seen him before. I glance over at Spock, yet another bruise and cut shows prominately on his cheek.

I am completely sober, hadn’t had time to knock a few back before I had been summoned and I had to be present in the captain’s quarters within five minutes--or risk the booth.

Kirk is watching me and Spock with narrowed eyes. “Why do you keep looking at my betrothed, Bones?”

I only had been sneaking peeks to check on the Vulcan’s mental state--of which I can not ascertain anyway. The first officer is as closed off as ever. 

“Suppose.” Kirk takes a swig from the brandy bottle. “You entertain me, then, you little shit. Finish that blow job on my first officer, Bones. You’re looking at him like you want to. Come on, Bones. Finish what you started last week. He couldn’t cum in your mouth that time--he had to wait until my dick was pumping in his ass--but maybe he will this time. Come on, I want to see what it looks like when he’s cuming into somebody else’s mouth. Spock, drop those trousers if you know what’s good for you.”

“Affirmative, Captain.”

“Affirmative, Captain,” Kirk mimics and outright guffaws. “Spock that doesn’t sound very nice. This is a friendly occasion, not Empirical business. Why don’t you use my first name in my quarters?”

“Of course, James,” Spock corrects himself. “My apologies.”

“Bones here,” Kirk says as he moves to put his arm around my shoulder. I’m frozen as he does so. “Bones here uses my first name in my quarters, don’t you, Bones?”

I gulp at that. I’ve never used his first name before. But I do now. “Yes, James.”

“Do you like my first name, Bones?”

“Of course I do,” I tell him a bit breathlessly. 

Kirk cackles, then leans over and kisses me on the mouth. I taste pussy on his lips. I try not to gag as he shoves his tongue down my throat. He finally breaks away. “You kiss like a fish, Bones.” 

Spock now obediently has his trousers and underwear down. His penis is out, laying there, as soft as can be.

Kirk ambles over and touches it. “Just hanging there like a piece of meat.” He snaps his fingers at me. “But Bones here knows how to get it hard, don’t you, Bones.”

I wipe the sweat off my brow. “Only for you, James.”

“That’s right my boy. So, get to sucking.”

I kneel down in front of Spock. The Vulcan has his eyes closed. I take the soft organ into my mouth. 

“Aw, Spock wants to pretend your mouth is mine,” Kirk says, noticing. “Open your eyes, Spock. Look at Bones. Look at Bones suck your cock. He ain’t gonna be as talented as I am. So there’s no use pretending.”

Spock opens his eyes. There it is again, that hatred and anger and I understand exactly what he must be feeling, I hate Kirk FOR him. 

Kirk reaches out and cuffs me on the back of the neck. “You’re not doing what I told you to do, Bones. He’s not hard. I suggest you remedy that. Immediately.”

“Yes, James.”

Suddenly the bosun’s whistle sounds with Uhura’s voice on the comm: “ _Bridge to Dr. McCoy_.”

Kirk, miraculously, lets me up so that I can answer it. “McCoy.”

“ _Emergency in quarters, 81A, deck 6_.”

I glance over at Kirk, he nods and I hightail it outta there.

*

The scene I happen upon is a gruesome sight. Blood splattered everywhere. On the bunk. On the bulkhead. On the deck. The deceased is a nude female who proves unrecognizable via initial visual inspection. I pull out my scanner to get an ID that way. I check for the carotid pulse anyway regardless of what I see before me, just in case and there is nothing. 

ID checks out to be: Chief Petty Officer Rand. Ah. Her. She used to be beautiful. Emphasis on the ‘used to be’. Rigor hasn’t set in yet, so this murder is recent. Slashed with a dagger. I pronounce it: “She’s dead. 2200 hours.” The way the scene looks, it's a crime of passion. Lover or somebody who wanted to be.

There’s a crewman behind me, I'd heard the footsteps creep up. I bark out a question, trying not to get hysterical: “Who did this to her?” 

The calm voice behind me is Spock’s, not a crewman after all. “Most likely, Commander Sulu.”

"Is that her lover?"

"Affirmative."

I should have fucking known. 

My hands are covered in blood. I have to wait a few moments for the body bag to arrive. I watch as her corpse is slid into it by two burly redshirts, then hauled away. The body will be taken down to the incinerator and forgotten about. 

I stand there staring at the lake of blood on the deck. Then my hands.

Spock is using the wall comm. “Ensign Chekov. Organize clean up in quarters.”

“Yes, Commander.”

I knew that Kirk will let this brutality go--as long as it doesn't affect him personally. Sulu is a highly trained, highly feared helmsman and commissioned officer. Head of security. Rand was a non commissioned officer, so ordinarily her status aboard ship was nil. However--according to my records, she used to be the captain’s yeoman--captain’s woman, until evidently Kirk got tired of both fucking her and having her as his assistant so he threw her out of his quarters. That was before he’d gotten his clutches into Spock. So he didn’t want her anymore nor did he care about her anymore and his protection of her ended. But her status as a former captain’s woman guaranteed her any man or woman she wanted. And she picked Sulu.

I walk into Rand’s bathroom. I see the stockings hanging up, the lipstick on the counter, the hairbrush with the blond hair still intwined in it. 

I wash my hands of it all in the sink.


	7. Chapter 7

05:00 Hours. My alarm goes off. The red flashes at me angrily. It keeps on pinging until I call out: "Shut up." 

I don’t want to get up. Wish I could stay curled up in my bunk forever. I want to die and rot here. But I might as well get up, I can't face those nightmares anymore. I drag myself out of bed and feel the cold air hit my body. I wIsh for the thousandth time I could have another cigarette or maybe one little glass of Ale. I'm getting neither. 

I stumble into the shower--flip on the water and suddenly it's bliss. Heaven. Fascinating. The act of taking a shower-- is the only activity I live for these days. Who's idea was it to put in a water shower for the doctor? The warm water hits my back. I tilt up my head and groan. I take my bar of soap, get covered in suds. My hand slides down, clamps around my cock--I jerk my problems away for those few moments. I watch the semen slide down the drain. 

I get out, wrap the too-small towel around my waist. I have just enough time for a shit and a shave before my lonely shift starts in the dungeon. I'll get started cleaning up those back rooms, get them in order. 

I look at myself in the bathroom mirror. My appearance is ghastly. I’m thinner. Cheeks are hollow, my eyes sunken in, bloodshot, lifeless, dull. My teeth look a mess. There's no dentist aboard, what happens if one of us gets a toothache? Guess the crew just yanks them out with a set of pliers.

*

A week later and we are waiting for word as to what happened to shuttlecraft _Hewel_.

Crewman Kevin Riley and Chief Kyle had been assigned aboard it for a mission and suddenly disappeared. Thanks to Spock we eventually discover the _Hewel_ had crash landed on planet C-43. 

Scans show that there is significant magnetic activity in the planet’s atmosphere. We're in a wide orbit but the captain is unable to beam down any security men to check if there are survivors.

I stand next to the captain’s chair, taking this all in.

Kirk's bored. "Mr. Sulu, take us out of C-43's orbit, time to move on." Which means he plans to leave any survivors down there.

I don’t know what prompts me to quickly whisper into the captain’s ear: “Hey, Captain? Hold off on leaving orbit for awhile. Why don’t you let me take a shuttlecraft and go down there and get ‘em. Pick ‘em up for you.”

Kirk looks at me, surprise plastered onto his features. I'm getting balsy, mouthy. “Bones, that’s Riley and Kyle we’re talking about. Enlisted men. Waste of time.”

“They might be alive down there.”

“Nah. They’re probably dead.”

“But what if they’re not? What if they need immediate medical care?”

“So?”

“I could bring ‘em back. Fix ‘em up.” I add to plead my case: “Then maybe when they’re well again you could give them the booth, might give you some satisfaction for these two idiots crashing precious Empirical property.”

“Hmmm,” Kirk says, obviously not convinced. “Don’t care that much about Empirical property. I’ll consider their suffering down there, payment enough.”

Why do I keep pushing the issue? My behavior is borderline insubordination. However the captain doesn't seem angry at all at me--the man is simply curious. 

“I’m a doctor, dammit,” I tell him. “Let me do my job saving a life or two or else you might as well transfer me outta here. You don’t need me.”

“Or I could kill you instead.”

“Or you could do that too, Captain. But then who’ll fix your hangnails?”

Kirk gapes at me for a moment, then lets out a huge guffaw. He slaps me on the back. “You’re funny, Bones.”

“Thank you, James.” Yes, I just used his first name and oh I was flirting. Anything to get him to let me rescue those two boys.

“You are a good man, Bones. Too good. Wanting to save lives instead of take them. You don’t belong here.”

I take a shaky breath and shrug at the same time.

"Maintain orbit, Mr. Sulu," Kirk calls out. Then tells me: “You don’t know how to pilot a shuttle."

“I know how, Captain. I learned in my Empirical training.”

“In theory you do. But in reality, no. Not as easy as those simulators. No sense in you crashing another one. I’m coming with you.”

“Captain,” Spock says, rapidly moving to stand on the other side of the captain’s chair. “I must invoke first officer’s privilege and disagree with your command.”

“Whaaat, Spock?” Kirk replies, waving him off, but Spock does not back away. 

“I respectfully request that I myself accompany the doctor aboard the shuttlecraft. We cannot risk the life of the captain of the ISS Enterprise.”

“You, huh?” Kirk’s eyes narrow. “You really want to go down there, Spock? So I have to risk both my doctor and my first officer to save a couple of non important bodily entities just to satisfy McCoy’s urge to save some pesky lives?”

Spock stands at attention, then salutes. “It is of course your final decision. I am merely your second in command.”

Kirk glares at the first officer a moment. “Yes. As long as you remember that, Spock. Alright, alight, fine. Spock’s right. Both of you will take the shuttle. No funny business.”

“Captain,” Spock replies. “I assure you my loyalty is with you and the Empire, no one or nothing else.”

“Good Vulcan.” Kirk waves us off. “Get going before I change my mind, you two." He pops the comm switch: "Shuttlebay get the _Kaufmann_ ready. Two to board."

Spock and I turn to exit into the turbolift. 

“Oh and Bones?” Kirk calls back after us.

“Yes, Captain?”

“Let’s see how good of a doctor you really are. You don’t get to use any scanner or tricorder. No fancy hypos. Needles and sutures only. Field medicine.” He chuckles. “You know how to do that, don’t you? Bones?”

That son of a bitch. “Acknowledged.” I salute him. “Thank you, Captain.”

*

In the _Kaufmann_ , we travel most of the distance in silence, Spock’s hands expertly gliding over the controls. Finally he informs me: “ETA in five point six three minutes.”

I reach down to touch my pitifully equipped medical bag on my hip. “Thank you, Mr. Spock.” We continue on a another moment or two in more awkward silence. Then to break up the monotony, I say: “So. You’re getting married.”

He turns slightly, apparently surprised that I'd dared to mention it: “Affirmative.”

“Congratulations.”

“I am a vulcan, none is needed.”

“All the same. I’m happy for you both. May you have a long and prosperous union.”

Spock hesitates a moment then says: “Why, thank you, Doctor.”

“So...uh...where are you uh...gonna do it?”

“Do it?”

“Yeah, where is the ceremony gonna be held?”

“I have alerted my family on Vulcan. The lavish ceremony shall be held there. At our ancestral home.”

"Lavish, huh?"

"Affirmative. It shall be an official occasion. Nothing else is acceptable."

“Your family doesn’t mind that you are marrying a Terran?”

“Why should they? My mother is Terran.”

“Oh right, I thought I noticed you were only half Vulcan on my medical scanner.”

Spock nods and says: “James T. Kirk is a more than noble match--my family is honored.”

I study my hands. “Yes of course, Commander.”

“It will be a most powerful alliance. He will go far in the Empire. Perhaps even achieve the rank of Fuhrer of Terra.”

"Fuhrer of Terra? He wants to get that far?"

"I expect no less for my betrothed."

“And you will be most powerful as his consort.”

“Indeed. I already possess much power. I am a member of the Vulcan royal family.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that, Mr. Spock.”

After a moment Spock says: “You were married.”

“Yes I was.”

“However, you are no longer.”

“That’s right.”

“Divorce is not permitted on Terra--much like Vulcan.”

“What are you getting at, Mr. Spock?”

“How did you manage to procure a divorce?”

“I didn’t.” I turn away slightly, use a finger to trace the bulkhead to the left of me. “I’m sure my whole sob story is all in my personnel file if you truly wish to know.”

“I have not checked the files.”

“Why not, Kirk did?” I reply glumly.

“That is Kirk’s prerogative.”

“And yours,” I remind him. “You outrank me.”

Spock glances down at the controls. “Indeed.” He says no more about it. “Prepare for landing.”

*

Spock lands shuttlecraft _Kaufmann_ directly adjacent to the crash scene, a clearing surrounded by woods. From our window, I observe that the victims inside are most likely in terrible shape, if they are alive at all. As Kirk had commanded, I personally carry no medical tricorder, no scanner and only have the barest of supplies to assist any survivors. Spock however, does carry a standard tricorder, but I know damned well he is not about to disobey a direct order to let me utilize it. Not an ideal situation--it makes the rescuer effort ten times more difficult-- but there is nothing I can do about it now.

As soon as the retrorockets are off, I'm out of my seat and ready to lunge out of there, my hand primed on the _Kaufmann's_ door release. 

Spock halts me with a hand. “You have a death wish, Doctor.”

“Hurry up and open the fucking door, Spock,” I bark out at him without care or worry about his response.

“Phaser, Dr. McCoy.” He emphasizes this by whipping out his own. “Standard procedure on any enemy planet. We do not know what we may find, beyond the shuttlecraft.”

“Oh yeah, right.” I pull the phaser off of my belt. “Fine. Ready when you are, Commander.”

“Oxygen/Nitrogen are identical to Terra. No breathing apparatus is necessary.”

“Well, that’s a relief. Let's go.”

Spock opens the door and we both jump out, phasers at the ready. 

“Doesn’t seem to be anybody around," I note. "Place is deserted."

“Do not be so hasty, Doctor.” 

We move quickly over to the crashed shuttle. It's tipped onto its side. Luckily the side with the door--the only way inside-- faces the purplish sky. Spock, with his superior Vulcan strength, forces open the door like it's nothing. 

The door suddenly slides shut on us, before I can enter. "Won't stay open," I mutter.

"I shall hold it open for you."

"No, no good. I need you in there with me, assisting." I untie my golden sash and attempt to make the door fast, lashing it to the bulkhead. 

“Doctor, willful destruction of an Empirical uniform is punishable by the booth.”

“It's necessary. Door won’t stay open." 

Even then, with my sash holding it, the damned thing still won't stay open.

Spock watches a moment, then suddenly unties his own sash. With both sashes in place on either side, the door at last, manages to hold. I lower myself carefully inside. 

“Should you enter?” Spock asks after me.

“Of course, Spock. How else are we gonna pull them out?”

“Acknowledged.” Spock crawls inside immediately after me. 

The interior is completely demolished. Blood and matter are splattered everywhere. I spot Mr. Riley, the pilot, slumped over the controls. I go to him first. Doesn't look like too much trauma at the visual inspection so I feel the carotid, there is no pulse. I check for any eye movement. “Pupils are unresponsive,” I tell Spock. “This man is dead. Rigor has not set in yet, body is still warm. Must have just died.”

Spock nods.

I move around carefully, crawling over to the other victim, Chief Kyle. I again feel the carotid. “Oh, hey now, we do have a pulse here.” I spin him around as best as I can in the broken seat to get a good look at him. Feel his chest for respiration, then peforming a BP check, it's low. “He’s gone into shock.” I mutter not necessarily to Spock, but Spock grunts at that all the same. "Spock help me get him out of this chair." Spock does so, laying him down on the shuttle floor. I reach into my bag, pull out an emergency blanket, drape it over him. Goddamned captain and his refusal to let me have proper equipment. No tri-ox compound. I am going to lose this man soon. I slip out the portable oxygen mask and place it over Kyle's face. I feel down Kyle’s legs and arms to feel for any fractures. “Got a compound fracture in the left femur here. Oh, nope, both femurs are fractured.”

Suddenly Kyle’s eyes snap open. He doesn't appear to be able to see, then he seems to zero in on the sight of Spock. He bats the oxygen mask away. “Oh, no. Oh, no!” he shrieks.

I try to replace the oxygen mask, but he's thrashing around too much. "Kyle, stay down!"

“I'm sorry Mr. Spock...please...Commander Spock!” Kyle bleats out. His eyes wide in terror. His respiration increases rapidly. “Mr. Spock. Please...I’m....”

“Mr. Kyle,” Spock says. "You must remain calm." 

Kyle starts to hyperventilate.

"Kyle, it's alright, calm down," I tell him. "Don't worry about Mr. Spock." 

“Commander Spock...I’m....”

“Mr. Kyle!” I push him down again. “We’re here to help you. You need to remain calm! Calm down.”

“I don’t know what happened to my agonizer, Mr. Spock. I must have lost it in the crash!” Kyle is still pleading. His eyes are locked on the Vulcan.

“Forget the fucking agonizer, Mr. Kyle,” I tell him. “If you don’t calm down you’re gonna--” 

Kyle suddenly passes right on out, going into cardiac arrest. 

I deliver a primordial thump to get his heart beating normally again. I manage to get him breathing again. “See what your loving, calming presence does to a man, Spock?”

“Dr. McCoy, is Mr. Kyle stable for transport?”

“Not yet, Mr. Spock. But we need to get him the hell out of here. What are we gonna do about Riley? We can’t leave his body here.”

“He is dead.”

“Can’t leave him here, rotting like a piece of garbage. Give the man a proper burial at least. You get Riley out, I'll work on stabilizing Kyle. Then we'll get Kyle out.”

“As you wish, Doctor.”

I put the oxygen mask back on Kyle's face. Spock pulls out the corpse, then returns back to me in the crashed shuttle. “Ready when you are, Dr. McCoy.”

“Kyle,” I said, to him. He’d regained consciousness and is now simply blinking at me and Spock. “We’re gonna move you. It’s gonna hurt like a bastard. So hang in there and let us do it, don’t try to move.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Kyle gasps out.

I move to grab the injured Kyle, but Spock stops me, indicating that he plans to carry down the injured man himself. Kyle’s eyes are frozen into a grotesque terrified daze but he makes no sound. 

I grab onto the door, shimmy myself up to outside and on top of the shuttle. Spock hands Kyle up to me, then follows me up. 

I'm so engrossed in Kyle’s wellbeing and watching the Vulcan pull himself up out of the wreckage that I fail to notice the alien preparing to pounce. 

Suddenly Kyle’s body slides to the right, skittering away as if a hundred thousand ants are underneath it--it catches me off guard. I whip around but I'm not fast enough to react. A huge looming creature, hairy, massive teeth and claws has Kyle clamped in his mouth. 

“No!” I shout out. I set my phaser on stun, air and fire at the creature but I miss. 

In my desperation to save him, I run after, leap upon and wrestle with the creature. Foolhardy, I know. I don't care if it's sunk it’s teeth into me-- I barely feel the searing pain, barely hear the cry that escapes my lips. 

I'm helpless against it. The creature takes off running, dragging myself and Kyle along with it, into the woods. 

It has Kyle by the waist, its claws digging into him, blood dripping from the wounds. I keep my eyes on Kyle as I am also being dragged along by the feet, my head scrapes the ground, my hands are desperately trying to free myself. It's most likely intent on taking us to it’s nest to feed. Oh well, they’re is worse ways to die, but Kyle, I need to save Kyle, the hairy menace can do what it likes with me.

A blast of distant phaser fire hits the creature. The shock forces the creature off its feet. All of us hit the ground. The creature drops me but it keeps its claws securely sunk into Kyle. It then suddenly gets to its feet, running off again. Keeping Kyle as it’s prize but leaving me behind.

Spock runs up to me, halts and crouches down. 

“Kyle, Kyle,” I groan out. “Get Kyle. Creature’s got him.”

Spock runs off after the creature, tricorder in hand. 

I lay there and wait, looking up at the purple sky. I'm helpless now, can't get up. I can barely breathe. I'm bleeding. I must have had the wind knocked out of me. My heartbeat pounds in my ears. My eyes grow heavy, want to close them. 

After what seems like an eternity, Spock skids to kneels down my side again. He clamps his hand on my thigh, attempting to stop me bleeding out. He feels my chest for respiration. I'm beginning to fade out. I'm standing on a hill above us, I hear Spock call out, "Doctor?" but he's so far away. I'm looking down at him. I could leap upon him if I wanted to. He's so far away.... 

Spock touches my face and somehow that brings me back. I blink my eyes. “Leave me be, go get Kyle.”

There's no comment from Spock as he hefts me up and throw me over his shoulder. He carries me the distance the creature had dragged me--seems like miles. All I can see is the ground moving past at a rapid pace and the blood dripping down my thigh, splattering on Spock’s trousers. Is...is... he running? 

“No. No. Kyle!” I punch at Spock’s side and hip with my fists. “Get Kyle. Spock...Creature’s got him.”

A hand--feels like it is made of steel-- catches and clamps down my wrist to stop my flailing around. In my desperation I manage to shake it free. I pound at him again, this time much harder. Spock shifts me in his grasp to carry me like a baby. I finally give up fighting him.

Finally we reach the shuttle. He lays me inside on the deck. He picks up his standard tricorder. Before he can scan my injuries, I protest: “Captain’s orders...no tri-corder, no scanner....”

“Those are your orders, Doctor, not mine.”

“Spock, what happened to Kyle? What happened to Kyle....”

“Dr. McCoy, Mr. Kyle is dead. Decapitated by the creature.”

“No, no. That's not true. You lie.” 

"I assure you, Doctor, that is the truth." Spock scans me with the tricorder. "You are suffering substantial blood loss."

I thrash around again. “Kyle. Should have gotten Kyle instead. Not me.”

“Hush, Dr. McCoy. Mr. Kyle is beyond my assistance."

Spock is still scanning me. I hear the whistle. “The bite is four point eight seven centimeters deep. I must close the wound.”

“Leave it alone.”

“The wound will necessitate being sutured closed.” He’s got his hand clamped on it again. “Or else you shall bleed out.” 

“Let me bleed out then. Spock, why didn’t you save Kyle?”

“Kyle is dead,” Spock informs me again. “There was no chance to save the man.”

“You bastard!” I scream out. I manage to get myself into a sitting position and rain blow upon blow upon the Vulcan. I hit his chest, his arms, his face, his head. 

He catches my wrists, pushing me back, forcing me to lay back on the deck. "Doctor this activity is unwise. You are bleeding."

He's straddling me. Holding my arms down. He leans over me, his face close to mine. I’m squirming from him. Due to the blood loosening his grip, I manage to get a hand released. 

I clamp that hand onto the back of his neck, pulling him toward me. I lift my head up and pull him forward. He lands on top of me. Chest pressing on mine. I feel his weight on me.

My mouth meets his, claiming it. He does not pull away. I feel his goatee brush against my face--the hair is softer than I thought it would be. I'm moving against him, his hips are aligned with mine. I'm hard now, so painfully erect. My cock feels like it's pressing against his own organ which seems to harden also. Probably not, that's gotta be his dagger or phaser or a scanner or piece of medical equipment that I feel pushing against me. All I know right now is that Spock feels good against my cock trapped inside my trousers and underwear and I want to die like this, bleeding out with him on top of me, me rubbing my dick against his, me panting into his mouth. I keep on moving against him, it's pushing me closer and closer to climax. With a small cry out, I come inside my trousers. He's still thrusting against me before he bites down hard on my neck, coming with a slight hiccup or a sigh. His hands are clamped onto me so tightly I feel that he might break my shoulders, break the skin at least.

Suddenly Spock yanks himself out of my clutches. He gets off of me and moves to sit besides me. He tugs at his uniform to straighten it out, get his dignity back no less. My red blood is smeared onto his lips. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve. 

I can't believe what I just did. 

“As I said before, you have a death wish, Doctor,” Spock remarks calmly. He's right, I am a dead man. What did I just do?

Without another word, Spock proceeds to dig into my medical bag. I lay there unmoving--coming down from the orgasm. Spock reaches down and tears my trousers near the wound. 

“Destruction of an Empirical uniform is an offense worth of the booth,” I remind him, still breathing heavily. As if rape on a superior officer--the first officer of the flagship of the fleet, a member of the Vulcan royal family-- isn't worthy of a slow torturous death.

My bloody leg now exposed, Spock dabbles at the wound with standard rubbing alcohol. “You shall bear the punishment, it is your uniform, not mine. You do not have much time. I must repair your wound. Where is your needle and suture?”

“You can’t suture a wound closed, you don’t know how.”

“You cannot treat yourself.”

“Again, Doctor, where is the needle and suture?”

"They're right there, you--"

“Shhh. Doctor. I have located them. Are these sterile?”

“What do you you think, of course they're sterile, you fucking ass--Owww!” I feel a sharp prick as he’s penetrated my thigh with the needle. I grit my teeth to keep from crying out any more. I claw at his sleeve, grab and hang on tight. My foot on the opposite leg twitches. 

He sews up the wound, pricking me again and again and again.


	8. Chapter 8

As Spock pilots shuttlecraft _Kaufmann_ back to the Enterprise, I sit in the navigator seat, staring into nothingness. The dried semen in my underpants is making me itch.

Spock at the very least--according to my wishes--had buried the corpse of Mr. Riley and the bones of Mr. Kyle dirtside before we’d blasted off. Spock had gone into that creature's recently vacated nest and retrieved those bones. I shouldn't have asked him to-- put his life in danger like that-- because he did it without a word of protest.

I didn't know much about Mr. Kyle. But Riley had been a nice kid from Engineering, one of Scott's prodigies-- Spock had told me. Riley had once had been a Lieutenant but was busted from officer to unlisted man, the lowest of the paygrades, for a minor infraction. 

“What was a nice boy like him doing in the service of the Empire?” I had wondered. 

Spock could not give me an answer, but maybe Riley had been forced into it, like myself.

I’m calm as we glide closer and closer to the Enterprise. I know Spock will immediately report to the captain what I have done-- raped Kirk’s betrothed. I am in essence a dead man walking. What the hell was I thinking? Why did I do such a thing? Because it felt good? Am I insane? 

I know fully well that instead of allowing me to die the easy way--bleeding out or slipping into shock-- Spock had stitched me up because I must face the punishment at Captain Kirk’s hands. A slow, agonizing, drawn out torture session that within an hour or even sooner I will be begging, crying out for death. And Kirk is right to do it. Spock was correct, I most certainly have a death wish. Ever since transporting aboard the ISS Enterprise. 

Spock sets the controls on autopilot. He gets up, kneels down closer to me to check my wound, gently probing my leg.

I try to jerk away from him. “Don’t worry. You did a great job stitching me up.” The rancor practically oozes from my words. “You just proved you don’t require my medical expertise. Anybody can do it. The Enterprise doesn’t need me.”

“Believe me, Dr. McCoy, I could never replace your medical expertise,” Spock informs me, in a soft voice before moving back to his seat.

*

Chekov greets us in the shuttlecraft bay with a sneer and a sweaty face and a phaser drawn and aimed right at us. He does not salute and I suppose when he has a weapon at the ready, pointed directly at his superiors, he isn’t required to. It still annoys the hell outta me. It terrifies me, this bloodthirsty smug smile, the grin of a madman, the licking of his lips--like a baby James T. Kirk. 

“Keptin Kirk ordered me to escort you to the brig, gentlemen. And who am I to disobey a direct order?”

“Mr. Chekov, lower your phaser,” Spock orders him. “Dr. McCoy is seriously injured. I shall be escorting him to sickbay.”

“The keptin did not mention sickbay. Go to the fucking brig before I burn you both.”

Spock raises an eyebrow at Mr. Chekov but puts up no further resistance. I hobble along with them.

*

I must have passed out in the brig because I shut my eyes for a moment, then open them to find myself lying on the hard bunk, Captain Kirk standing over me, his face twisted into a snarl. This is it. I’m dead.

I sit up on my arms, weakly saluting him. “Captain.”

He raises his hand, then slaps me hard across the face. I feel blood start to drip from my nose. “Dr. McCoy. You wasted my time. Where’s the survivors?”

“They’re dead,” I reply. 

“You wasted my fuel on a couple of enlisted men, Bones. I should have you busted down to crewman, you son of a bitch.”

He doesn’t know what I did. Spock didn’t tell him. Why the fuck not? I’m about to confess when I cut myself short and say: “My apologies, Captain. Riley was already dead by the time we arrived. Kyle was attacked by a creature.”

Kirk cranes his head to glare at the first officer. “What happened to my video feed, Spock? It went out as soon as you left the Enterprise shuttle bay. Couldn’t see what you two cunts were up to.”

“Video feed?” I ask.

“Think I was gonna let you two go off together into the abyss without letting me spy on you? What happened to the video feed, Spock? I couldn’t see a fucking thing.”

“Captain, there was simply a malfunction.”

“You two look like a mess. What happened to your uniform? Where’s your sash? Think these things are cheap?”

“No sir,” I replied.

Kirk’s prodding at my injury, I can’t help but jump at that. “Looks like Bones has a little boo boo.”

He motions over to Chekov. “Take this foolish prick to the booth. Ten minutes duration and only ten minutes, Chekov. I find out it was longer than that, and it’ll be you in there--squeezed in with him, both screaming like little pigs.”

Only ten minutes in the booth. I deserve much longer. I deserve to die in there. Kirk doesn’t know what I did. Spock is gonna have to tell him. Why hasn’t he? 

Chekov stares at me, positively salivating and most likely planning how far he could push those orders and maybe the punishment would be worth it to him. Maybe he should push it further. “Yes, Keptin.”

*

I suddenly find myself in my quarters, sprawled out on my bunk. There’s a wet cloth on my forehead. A hand bringing me up by the back of the neck, giving me a sip of water. 

My vision is blurry for long moments, until I realize who is giving me this special attention. Spock. 

I work my jaw a few moments before I can speak. “What the hell are you doing here? Trying to get yourself killed?” 

Spock is sporting yet another black eye, another cut on his lip. 

“Kirk was going to spy on us?” I demand.

“Fortuitous that he could not, wouldn’t you say, Doctor?” Spock briefly leaves my side and he seems to be walking and sitting gingerly. “The captain has the ability to see all.”

“You did something to the feed.”

Spock flashes me a dark, guilty glance but offers no excuse. 

“He doesn’t know," I say.

“Know what, Doctor?”

I roll my eyes. “My sincere appologies, Mr. Spock. I don’t know what got into me.”

Spock says something odd in response: “It is of no consequence. You merely have adapted to the Enterprise.”

“But I’m not a...I’m not a fucking--”

“Please be quiet, Doctor.”

He’s leaning over me again, his face close to mine. 

Yet again I must be insane. I reach up and caress his face. The bruise, the cut. Why does Kirk hurt him so much? 

Spock should put me into a choke hold for this new infraction and I wish he would-- but no, his eyes simply close at the contact. 

After a moment, I drop my hand and he opens his eyes. 

“Commander,” I beg of him. “Do us both a favor and get the hell out of here.”

*

Weeks later, Kirk beams himself, Spock and me down to Wrigley’s Pleasure planet for some badly needed R and R. Just the three of us.

We go to the “ _Meow Meow_ ” Club. The nicest of the tawdry clubs on the strip. The girls in there are advertised as ‘all naturalle’. I assume it means no inhancements, no plastic surgery. We sit in the booth with red velvet seats in the darkened theatre, knock back some drinks, watch the show on the small stage. It’s “Cabaret”, a very old musical review. The girls are of course, scantily clad. Pasties on their breasts but wearning no bottoms, exposing their very hairy pussies. They're wearing garters with old fashioned fishnet stockings and mary-jane shoes that I find titillating. More so than the exposed genitals. They've even got hair under the arms, something I've never seen before. As they dance, their legs are spread on chairs turned around, exposing their pink clits. Spock sits ramrod straight, expressionless, hasn’t touched his altair water. Kirk is drunk, hooting and hollering. I’m calmly sipping at my brandy but I’m enjoying the the view.

Suddenly I get dragged onto the stage by the MC--a man in gaudy, macabre, caked on stage make-up. During the final number I hold onto a girl’s waist as they dance around me, do high kicks. I haven’t actually touched a woman in many years. I forget how soft they are.

The MC comes to our table and tries to offer us the girls. A couple of the dancers that were in the show come near us. One of them, big hips, large natural breasts, black pussy hair, black bowler hat, sits on my lap. Kirk's arguing with the MC about payment. The MC wants too much money. Spock's watching them. I feel something at my crotch, the girl is undoing the fastening to my trousers. Sliding out my hard cock. She puts it inside her. I should really push her off--Kirk doens't want to pay the amount the MC is demanding. I glance up at the girl. She holds a finger to her lips. I remain where I am as she rocks on top of me. She feels good on the inside and as I said, it's been a long time. I'm breathing hard but still Kirk doesn't look over. I come deep inside her. She immediately pulls up off of me, letting my cock free. Stuffs me back into my pants. Kirk is still arguing with the MC and Spock is watching them fight. The girl walks away. I wipe my brow, before Kirk motions to me. We're leaving. 

We exit the club. I check my chron, it's around 2200 Wrigley time. We walk down the lane, Kirk stumbling with mine and Spock’s arms clamped around his waist. 

Along the way we happen upon a crumbling, sleazy, storefront wedding chapel. Kirk stops short and points. “There. Right there.”

“Captain?” I ask him.

“That’s where I want to get married.”

“Captain?” Spock says with gritted teeth. 

“There! Wake the minister up! That’s where I want to get married to you, Spock. Right the fuck now.”

I cast Spock a glance, I see the unbridled humiliation, horror, indignation in those dark eyes. 

“As you wish, James,” Spock replies. “My life belongs to you and to the Empire.”

Kirk sneers. “I know it does. And we’re getting married here.” He picks up a rock, hefts it, throws it at the upstairs window. The window shatters. “Hey you fucking prick in there! Wake the fuck up!”

The proprietor of the establishment leans out of the broken window. “Wait till we open tomorrow.”

“Oh, alright then,” Kirk calls back. “That’s okay, we’ll just burn this fucker down.” He yanks the phaser off his belt, sets the dial. 

Spock reaches out and grabs the captain’s wrist. “Captain, this is unnecessary, we shall convince him to comply.”

I yell out to the upstairs window: “We suggest you open this place up, Sir! We are officers of the Terran Empire.”

After what seems like an eternity, finally the propiertor comes downstairs. He gives Kirk a terrified glance before opening up the chapel and allowed us inside. 

“What took you so fucking long,” Kirk slurs out. “Marry us now.”

“Well, alright,” the man says. “Please join me at the head of the chapel.”

“Hurry up,” Kirk warns.

The man looks at all of us. “Is it all three of you or--”

“Fuck you!” Kirk snarls out. “Just he and I.” He motions at Spock and himself. 

“Please join hands,” the man says.

And without further adieu I find myself a witness to a wedding. Those dark eyes now have resignation in them. 

After the five minute ceremony, Kirk and Spock are officially married. We clear on out of there, Kirk of course taking the time to tip over a pew or two and the lectern as he makes his way out--the overgrown child that he is.

“If you think you’re getting any credits outta me, you have another thing coming,” Kirk informs the poor man as we leave. 

I trail the happy newlywed couple out, but slip the proprietor a credit chip--should be enough to cover the damage.

Kirk’s dragging the first officer by the hand. “Come on, Spock. I’m itching to consummate this marriage right now.”

He drags his Vulcan husband into a nearby barely darkened alley. I follow at some distance. Somehow Kirk notices I’m not right up there with them because he hisses out my name. I reluctantly get close up to their activity. Glancing around them then finally watching them. 

Kirk’s mouth is clamped on the Vulcan’s neck, grinds his hips into him. His hands move down to unfasten the Vulcan’s trousers. Goes in for a kiss. Spock seems to tolerate this without emotion. Stands there and takes it. 

“Mmmm.” Kirk reaches into Spock’s pants, stroking his cock. 

I turn away at this, I don’t want to see. I’ll gladly stand guard for them. Protecting them until they are finished up. 

But no... Kirk notices me looking away. “Bones,” he mutters. “You’re gonna watch, see how real men fuck. Against the wall, Bones.”

Obediently, I lean back against the cold brick wall. My eyes widen as Kirk pushes Spock to lay flat against me. His back against my chest. His ass against my hips. Kirk continues for a time to grind himself into Spock, his mouth clamped on him. 

Suddenly Kirk spins the Vulcan around to face me. Spock’s eyes are open, now they’re fixed on mine. Mine on his.

“Bones,” Kirk says. “Got some lube in that kit of yours? Can’t break into this tight little ass without it."

I gulp--finally I nod, dig into my bag and hand it over. Kirk unfastens his own trousers, slides them down just enough to expose his cock. He slathers the lube on his own penis, but doesn’t bother preparing the Vulcan’s rectum. Kirk’s quickly grabbing onto the Vulcan’s hips, aligning himself at Spock’s entrance, pushing his way in. 

Spock gasps a fraction as Kirk enters him, the captain not stopping until he is fully sheathed inside.

Kirk moans, hands clamped tightly around Spock’s waist, thrusting hard. I feel Spock’s hips push against mine, I find myself getting aroused again because of the touch, with each of the captain’s violent thrusts. “Bones...”Kirk grunts out. “Grab his cock.”

“Captain...?” I whisper. Aware that my mouth is mere centimeters from Spock’s mouth. 

“Grab his fucking cock...Grab his fucking cock. Grab it, now.”

I do as commanded. Spock’s cock erect is thick, hard and hot in my hand--I’d only felt it hard against me before, only seen it flaccid before.

I jerk Spock's cock in time with Kirk’s thrusting. Spock drops his head onto my shoulder as I pump him and Kirk pistons into him. Kirk seems to either not notice, or not care. Spock and Kirk’s and probably my breathing are erratic. 

I’m rock hard inside my trousers-- the squalidness of them fucking right here and _me helping things out_ in the alley where anybody can see--and indeed I spot a guy watching from the shadows, touching himself. 

“Gonna cum, Spock?” Kirk said. “Gonna spurt all over Bones? Huh, Spock?” Kirk said as he thrusted. “Cum all over Bones, Spock. Cum all over Bones.”

There's an unbelievable whimper or a hiccup from Spock’s lips, his head still resting on my shoulder. I twiste my wrist. Spock promptly comes all over me. Giving out an ‘ahhh’ as he does so. At the sound of Spock’s voice, I climax inside my trousers. 

Kirk then grunts as he comes inside Spock’s ass. 

He withdraws as quickly as he’d entered the Vulcan. Smacks the first officer’s bare rump. Spock lifts his head off my shoulder, our eyes meet for a moment before he turns away from me. 

Kirk pulls up his own trousers. He laughs and points at the voyeur in the shadows.

*

Kirk had moved his honeymoon into a seedy motel just a few feet from the wedding chapel. 

The place is filled with prostitutes of both sexes but we moved right past them. Kirk had kept up his petting and clawing of the Vulcan--until they shut the door of the bedroom behind them and I didn’t have to watch or assist with the goings on anymore. I was left out in the hallway, Kirk didn’t drag me into it--which was a relief to be honest. 

I stand guard as I’d done for Kirk many a time in places like this. I hear the shouts, moans coming from Kirk. Spock makes no sounds or at least not audibly enough to hear from my vantage point. 

A once pretty but now faded woman who seems about my age, obviously one of the prostitutes, walks towards me in the hallway. She sits down on a couch directly across. I glance over, idly watching her stroke her own legs and body.

I know she’s touting for business. Wants me to pay the credits, slip myself inside of her. I'm too spent to do much of anything right now so I only watch. I stay right where I am while listening to the soundtrack of moans from Kirk and Spock’s door. I keep my arms folded, chewing on my thumb. She raises up her skirt in an extremely suggestive manner. She wears black stockings with suspenders, exactly what I like, no panties on and pussy hair just like the cabaret girls had had. She lays back on the couch, keeps looking up at me in invitation.

Suddenly, the door bursts open. Kirk stumbles out wearing a towel around his waist and nothing else. He immediately spots the prostitute, ambles over to her, her spread legs. “What are you waiting for, Baby? Want some of this?” 

He whips his towel off, his cock at full attention. He must not have any kind of a refractory period, because he’s on top of her and thrusting into her within 30 seconds. 

While Kirk is busy, I sneak the opportunity to glance through the open door of the ‘honeymoon suite’. 

I'm horrified at the sight. Spock is laying on the floor, unmoving. I cast a glance back at Kirk, then enter the room. Spock's unconscious, laying in a pool of green blood. I pull out my Type II medical scanner, don't like what I see.

I move back to the hallway. I stop and watch Kirk’s ass cheeks pumping against the prostitute. It's almost a farce--Kirk's behavior. “Captain,” I whisper. 

Kirk is ignoring me or can't hear me, one of the two. 

“Captain,” I say again, louder.

“What is it, Bones?” Kirk doesn't even stop thrusting.

“Request permission to escort Commander Spock to the Enterprise.”

Kirk’s ass is unbelievably still pumping away. “What the hell for?”

“He’s....seriously ill.”

“He’s fine, Bones, just sleeping. Damned Vulcan can’t take what I dish out.”

I try again, a little more frantically: “Captain, I respectfully request permission to take him to sickbay, Sir. Please, Captain." Yes, I'm begging. Spock will die if I don't do something fast. “Captain, please!”

“Alright, alright, alright! Just get the fuck out of here. Leave me be.”

The girl underneath him giggles.

“Yes, Captain.” I move back to where Spock is and flip open my communicator. “Two to beam up, Mr. Scott.”


	9. Chapter 9

In sickbay, I finish up with fixing Spock's injuries with the dermal regen. I proceed to clean him up--the blood and bodily fluids. Kirk's devoted consort. Unconscious, fully relaxed he looks much younger. I clothe him in a clean white medical gown, move him over to the recovery ward with the transporter beam.

I get him situated in a biobed. Slide a pillow under his head, a blanket up to his torso, then take a seat next to him. The main scanner still isn't working right. My type II scanner also appears to be crapping out but there's another in one of the back storage rooms. I get up to fetch it, but in the doorway I glance back at Spock. He's not going anywhere and I don't think I need to call his personal guard here. Nobody's coming in. Just to be on the safe side, however, I lock up the ward.

In the back room, I locate another Type II scanner. On my way out, I spot the innocuous grey metal storage cabinet. Never noticed it before now. I know the override code so I use it. The drawer slides open. Inside--I find out exactly why the former ship's doctor was known as "The Butcher". Files and files of documentation of medical experiments performed on various alien species and...to my horror... our own crew. They're unnecessary and downright cruel. The images, even me being a physician, I can barely stomach them. Some of the Enterprise crew had died precisely because of these experiments which are laid out before me in matter of fact medical language: Deliberate infections, deliberate maimings, DNA splicing, sewing together of organs, removal of-- _Oh my God_. Some the crew are still alive. So much pain and suffering. I recognize some of their names: Mr. Leslie and Commander Sulu are a couple of them.

No wonder the crew refuses to set foot in sickbay.

My hands are trembling. Before I slam the cabinet closed I find an unopened bottle of Romulan Ale and a carton of cigarettes inside. I cannot read the carton's label--some alien brand of smokes. I hate...despise myself for it but I want "The Butcher's" booze and cigarettes for myself. I tear open the carton, get out one of the packs of smokes. Take the lighter and spark one up. The smoke stings my lungs, I cough and cough.

Like a zombie, I make my way back to the still unconscious Spock. I plonk down in the chair next to him, still smoking the cig.

The viewer beeps. I lean over to answer it. “McCoy.”

Kirk’s hate filled glare fills the screen. “Bones, what the hell did you do with Spock?”

“He’s still here in sickbay, Captain.” I thought perhaps Kirk would have come storming here as soon as he beamed aboard but he did no such thing. “Still unconscious. MS hasn’t worn off yet.”

“Wake him up. I want him here in my quarters, now.”

“I can’t, Captain, the effects of too many drugs in his system at this stage will kill him. He’s lost an awful lot of blood and his condition is weakened.”

“Take the chance.”

I decide to hold my ground. I take a long drag of the cigarette, blow it out in a smoke ring. “As much as I’d like to follow your order, Captain, I cannot as a medical professional allow it, Sir.”

Kirk sneers back at me. “Quack.”

“Yes sir. Spock’ll be awake soon, if you wish to come down to visit him. I’ll release him later on tonight if he’s up to it.”

“If he’s up to it.” A harsh chuckle escapes Kirk’s lips. “You’re funny, Bones.”

“Yes, Captain. You are more than welcome to come up to sickbay to observe your husband, Sir. See how he’s doing. Like I said, he will be extremely weak and probably not in any condition for any... activity.”

“Sure thing, Bones.” Kirk ends the transmission. The screen goes to black.

Kirk never did come to sickbay. Somehow I knew that would happen.

I keep vigil next to Spock for several more hours, smoking cigarette after cigarette, waiting for him to wake up.

I am leaning over him, checking his eyes when a hand suddenly clamps around my wrist. I glance down, then over at two very black, very annoyed orbs. “Well, look who’s finally conscious,” I mutter.

“Why am I nauseated?” my patient demands.

“Oh, that’s the MS. Gave you a heavy dosage. Morphine is unfortunately all we have available in pain meds aboard the ISS Enterprise.”

“I do not require pain medication, Doctor. Kindly discontinue it.”

“Not in pain, huh? I find that hard to believe.”

“I am a Vulcan.”

“I know that, boy do I know that--you being half Vulcan is the only thing that kept you alive. I’d you were fully human you’d be dead about now. You were in bad shape. All at the hands of your loving husband.”

“It is none of your concern,” Spock says quietly. The hand on my wrist tightens. He can break it if he wants to, so easily, I but I don't flinch, didn’t hold back my words. Go ahead an snap my wrist.

I dare to say: “You could stop this...overpower him any time you wanted.”

“Your loyalties are not with the captain.”

“My loyalty is with my patient. That’s who I’m concerned with, first and foremost!”

“A most dangerous alliance, Doctor.”

“I almost lost you. One day I’m not gonna get there in time to save your life, then what?”

One tiny flick of Spock’s hand proves more than enough to snap my wrist, fracturing the bone. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. I fight the urge to cry out. The pain clouds my senses. Red frames my vision, but still I don't flinch. I keep going: “I’m...worried about you... as a...physician. Consider it a... weakness. Mental...defect.”

He releases my wrist. I hold onto it, grimacing. Can't suppress the gasp.

He sits up. “Am I free to leave sickbay, Doctor?” He’d asked me, instead of insisting upon it.

I nod. "Be my guest."

*

My wrist is newly regen'ed, but still hurts like a sonofabitch as I write in my diary: "I want to murder Captain James T. Kirk. I hate him. I hate everything about him." I can't think of stronger words to describe what I'm feeling so I leave it at that. This is foolhardy, writing all of this down on real paper, with a real pen, with real ink. It can't be deleted. Somebody someday will come snooping in my quarters, read this diary and kill me for it. They have to.

Good.

I don't stop at that however, I keep on writing. I curse Hitler and all he stood for. Fuck him and the memory of him and all of the pain and suffering of the universe- caused by the hands of the Empire, starting with old Nazi Germany. I wonder what really might have happened had the former USA won WWII. Would we be different? Less bloodthirsty or the same? I don't know.

Maybe my mother did do me a disservice--keeping me out of the Hitler Youth Program, putting me through a non-Empire sponsored medical school. Because maybe then I'd be immune to the pain of causing another's suffering. I would have been just like "The Butcher" doling out pain and harm with a smile instead of wanting to help and heal and sooth and love.

Love. When I'd met Joss, I'd been so in love and happy and I thought she was too and then there was Jo and I thought things were perfect. Until that fateful day.

*

A week later and Spock doesn't speak much to me, doesn't look at me, stays far away from Sickbay. Maybe things are better that way.  I don't even want to set foot in sickbay any more, not now that I know it used to be a torture chamber.

I'm not asked to go over to their quarters any longer. But there's still noises coming through the bulkhead. But I drink enough booze to pass out on a nightly basis so I can't hear.

I notice Spock walking a bit oddly again and I immediately know there are more internal injuries--Kirk likes that damned knife play and doesn’t seem to care where he slices.

I surreptitiously leave a dermal regenerator in the science lab where I know the Vulcan will find it--he’d know, since it is a piece of medical equipment, that I’d left it there.

The next time I venture into that lab, the regen is gone.


	10. Chapter 10

Another day another mission, which means another planet to pillage. These missions are proving to be the same day in and day out--we beam down and manipulate and steal from and kill and hurt and rape the poor inhabitants. I am becoming numb to this--acclimated. As Spock had said, I am adapting.

This time though, Kirk seems to have bitten off a little more than he can chew. The enemy known as the _Rihansu_ \--outnumber us. They've got an outpost on this planet and no ships orbiting to protect them. However, they fight back with a vengeance. The _Rihansu's_ outward appearance resembles Spock’s: Pointed ears, slanted eyebrows, tall, thin, graceful, angular bodies. Almost identical DNA to our first officer with only minor variations discernible via ship’s scanner. They speak an odd language. Strange uniforms--beautiful and elaborate, multicolored but not at all warlike as our own. We want what they have, rich ore deposits, of course. And like Spock, they are physically stronger than us Terrans. We lose quite a few security men that have to be replenished by frequent beam downs. I wonder how Spock feels battling such an enemy that resembles him so closely. Obviously they have ancestry in common. I didn't ask and he has not volunteered the information, but he kills them without hesitation like the rest of us. 

After a while we'd managed to slice a fair bit of their throats and burn others with phaser fire. Managed to cut down nearly all of them in one way or another. Save for a few stragglers. Green blood covers our uniform shirts and our hands. 

The stragglers have now disappeared from our view. Hiding. How dare they. Those sneaky bastards.

Spock has his tricorder out. "There is a solo _Rihansu_ in the immediate vicinity, Captain."

"Where, Spock?"

"In the staircase."

Kirk barks out a command. “Bones, go flush him out."

Alone? Nobody is apparently ordered to accompany me. This is a death sentence. The enemy will overpower me and kill me before I know what hit me. In the back of my mind, I know that Kirk is deliberately ordering me to my death. But still I salute and obey. "Yes, Captain."

I reach the door to the staircase. Closed. I open it. I hold up my phaser, but in this confined space it’s evident that I will be forced to use my knife. I am without a doubt a dead man, if I'm forced to engage in a knife fight with this alien. No matter. I clip the phaser onto my belt and pull out my dagger. 

The door shuts behind me without a sound, closing me inside. It’s darkened but not all the way, I can see but barely. The hairs on my back of my neck stand up in this enclosed area--I know the enemy is lurking. Ready to pounce any moment now. I keep my breath even. My footsteps quiet. There's the stairs. One step at a time, I inch upwards. I reach the top. Nothing here. I walk down the hall--still dark in here. Come to another closed door. 

As I drop my hand down on the door handle to open it, I feel a cold, sharp blade against my throat.

 _Ah ha, this is it._ But...you know what, I'm going to die, but I'm not going out without a fight.

I spin around, my own dagger at the ready, hold it up to stab, but a hand clamps firmly onto my wrist, hard. I drop my knife and hear it clatter onto the floor. 

My captor faces me now. The pointy eared Rihansu bastard stares at me. He's got his dagger held to my throat but he remains there, waiting. Looking at me. He doesn't move--doesn't slice me. What the hell is he waiting for? Kill me and get it over with. Dammit. Stop this pussy footing around.

He suddenly pushes closer to me, forces me back against the door. I feel his hips pressed against mine, his breath against my neck. Oh, that’s what he wants. To rape me first. Then he will kill me. 

I freeze and wait for him to spin me back around and yank down my trousers. But he still keeps looking at me. Just pushing against me and staring. Well, fuck me or don’t fuck me, kill me now, get it over with. Hurry up. Today is a good day to die. I've lost. I'm in your clutches. I can't get out of this one. Stop fucking dragging things out!

I suppose I could, at this point, have tried to wrestle his dagger away from him, but I don't. In fact I'm entranced by him. His dark eyes. Beautiful. Like Spock's. Almost kindly. Again, like Spock's are often kind, sometimes. Most of the time they're not. 

I let myself completely relax, maybe he'll take the hint and do what he needs to do to me. Get it over with. But still he stares.

Suddenly he pulls his knife away from my neck. Sheathes it on his hip. I watch in amazement. _What the fuck is he doing_? Oh, I get it. He wants to fuck me then kill me some other way, maybe snap my neck. 

Then he does something astounding. He leans down, picks up my dagger and hands it back to me. 

Doesn't he realize that this is war? Doesn't he know that I will accept that proffered dagger, take advantage of this situation and stab him through the heart? Is this creature insane? Maybe he has a death wish, too. Or maybe he's taunting me, daring me to try to kill him and then he'll wrestle this knife away from me and do what he needs to do. 

He smiles at me. Not a smirk, nothing sinister. But a warm, inviting, genuine, beautiful smile. I tilt my head curiously. I think ' _to hell with it_ '. I sheathe my weapon onto my belt, just as he had done. I have just wasted an opportunity to kill the enemy and get the hell out of here. 

He leans his head forward. I jerk back slightly until I realize what he's trying to do. Then I acquiesce. Allow him to meet my lips in a kiss. Maybe this is a way the _Rihansu_ can kill someone. I'm caught in the web. I don't know but right now I don't care. 

He deepens the kiss and it is almost sensual, loving, beautiful, erotic. Not almost. It IS. After a few moments of this he pulls back from me to look at me some more. He's got some type of emotion in his eyes, lust? Love. Sure doesn't look like he's intent on murder. 

Neither of us speak. Even if he does say anything, I won't be able to understand the words. I'm not carrying an Imperial Translator Device. And even then, I don't think it translates _Rihansu_. 

He meets my lips again, sliding his tongue inside. That gets me tingly, then extremely aroused. I'm now responding in kind, caressing his tongue with my own. Caressing his body as he does mine. My arm slides around his waist. His hands cup the back of my head. The kiss grows more and more passionate. 

Why is he doing this, kissing me like this, why not just rape me and get it over with--is he going to kill me or not?

His hands then move to roam around my body, touching me, caressing my chest, my heartbeat. I let him do it, let him put his hands all over me. This affection feels good, never mind that it's an enemy doing it and I can almost forget it is our enemy. 

He nibbles down my neck, bites down on it a little, then he's back up and kissing me. His hands dive underneath my shirt--they're warm on my bare skin. I can't help but moan at the touch. Who cares that Kirk and company might start to miss me at some point, might come looking for me, might happen upon this. But nobody does. 

Things inch further and further along. The enemy finds the top of my trousers, unfastens them. Clasps his hands around my cock. I groan again. He's touching, exploring, fondling. I let my head drop onto the enemy’s shoulder. It feels incredible--until he drops down to his knees and takes my hard, leaking cock into his hot mouth. Then it feels... _oh it feels_ \-- 

It had been a long while since anybody had given me a blow job--and I don't last very long, I come down his throat. My head tilting back. He sucks me dry, takes everything that I have to give him. 

He wipes his mouth with his hand, then stands up to kiss me again. I taste myself on his tongue. The kiss grows more and more passionate and it isn't long when I'm panting again into his mouth, aroused yet again. Suddenly he breaks away and looks at me with a question in his eyes. 

Was he actually trying to ask me if he could fuck me? Why doesn’t he just take it? He wants my permission? That’s sure as hell what it seems like. He wants my consent. 

How do I tell him that yes I want it too? I grab his face with both hands and kiss him hard. My hands slip down to undo the fastening on his trousers for him. That tell you something you pointy eared bastard? I spin myself around, pull my trousers lower to expose my ass. Ah now he's getting it. I hope to hell he's got some lube, I don't have any... but maybe I don't care.

He's got lube, I hear something open up. Smell something spicy. There's a warm, slick finger at my entrance, then another finger, slipping inside, stretching me open.

He isn't rough or forceful. His touch is gentle. He removes his fingers and presses his now lubricated cock against my entrance and pushes inside. He's big and it hurts a moment, until I become used to it. He goes in slowly till he bottoms out. _Oh, oh it feels so good_. I don't want it to end-- I want him to keep fucking me forever, keep filling me up and hitting my sweet spot-- but he comes. I feel his cock jerk and squirt deep inside me.

We stay there for another moment locked together. He's still buried deep, his arms still circled around my waist. I lean my head forward, resting it on the door. His fingers reach around and pull out another orgasm from me. _Oh._ I want him to get hard and fuck me again and again. I hiss with regret as he slowly pulls out of me.

I spin around and face him. Now he's gonna kill me but I don't care--I'll die willingly and happily after that.

But his eyes inform me otherwise. There's love in those eyes. It's unmistakable. Joss had once looked at me like that, or maybe her emotion was fake but this...this is real. 

We can't communicate verbally but we're doing pretty good just like this. I smile at him and hope my eyes are telling him: "I love you, too."

He touches my chin with the tip of his finger, then leans over to kiss me again. After we break apart, he motions in some type of sign language, that I should leave first and he would follow. So he's not fixing to kill me at all. 

I slide my dagger out of the sheath. He mirrors my action. Right now we are lovers but outside that door we will become enemies once again.

I grab his hand and we walk down the staircase. We lean in for a kiss one last time. I release his hand and open up the door. 

Outside there's a large group of our Enterprise crew waiting for me. The captain stands with hands on hips. Then he spots the _Rihansu_ behind me. “Get him!” Kirk commands. Several burly security men grab onto the enemy. 

“Hold him,” Kirk commands. 

I watch, helpless, hoping my lover can manage to get away but there is nothing I can do to assist him. Until I yell out: "Captain, wait!"

"What is it, Bones?"

"He might have...information we could utilize--why don't we take him prisoner instead? Bring him back to the ship. Maybe we could learn something about these people. He could tell us about more ore deposits."

Kirk snaps his fingers. "Spock."

"Captain."

"Use your Vulcan mind meld on this poor wretch."

"Affirmative, Captain."

Spock reaches a hand over, places his fingers on the _Rihansu's_ face, who jerks slightly. The _Rihansu_ then smiles. Spock releases his hand. "He does not know anything useful to us."

"Kill him," Kirk commands.

"Captain," I say, "Wait a mom--" 

The security guard pulls the Rihansu's head back and promptly slices his throat. They release him and he drops to the ground. 

Kirk is tutting and shaking his head. “You pointy eared bastard. You were the last hold out. Thought you could hide? No... but Bones here...Bones snuffed you out, didn’t you, Bones. Nice work, Baby. So damned easy,” Kirk tells me. "Bones, you've surprised me by your bravery today." He looks over at the first officer: "Spock."

"Yes, Captain."

"Is this it? This creature the last of 'em?"

"Affirmative, Captain."

“Well then, that about settles it, we’re done here.”

I watch Kirk, Spock and the guards saunter off before I turn back to the crumpled, bloody body of my lover. I kneel down, cradle his head--not caring if anybody sees me. His beautiful eyes so full of love before, are now grey, lifeless. I sit there in anguish. Until I notice there's boots standing in front of me. I glance up. It's Spock. I flash him a look of pure, unbridled hatred.

"I grieve with thee," Spock tells me, before walking away.

Kirk calls over to me: “Hey Bones! Stop trying to save his life! He’s dead! Leave the piece of shit alone!”

With difficulty, I stand up. I can still feel his touch, his kiss, his cock inside me. Still can taste him. Smell his scent on my hands.

I reach the beam up coordinates, stand with the others and await beam up. Kirk smacks my back. “Bones, you are a hero! Leading us to the holdout Romulan. Nice work! Might even have to increase your rank to a Commander! Maybe even promote you to first officer!” He's going overboard on the complements. Spock shoots the captain a side eye glance, then meets my eyes. 

But I don't see them. Don't hear them, either.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please heed posted warnings at the beginning of this fic.
> 
> In this chapter especially I make mention of a specific horrific murder. I thought about toning it down but ultimately decided not to. Just be aware that there's description (after the fact) of a nasty murder as committed by the Enterprise crew.

 

Back on board the Enterprise, in the transporter room, I barely notice the captain walking to the console and ordering more security men down to the _Rihansu_  planet to collect the ore.   With the captain so engrossed, I take the opportunity to sneak on outta there.

Inside my quarters I strip off my uniform. It's covered in blood. I pitch it into the laundry chute. I pour myself a drink. Light up a cigarette.

I don't want to shower his scent away--the only love, the only gentleness I’d ever had for a long, long time, the only compassion shown that day--but the shower feels good and I need to feel good again.

I clamber into the stall, turn on the water. Stand there under the warm spray for long moments.

It was all my fault. I should have told the _Rihansu_ to kill me--I dunno how, using sign language or something or help him out, push myself against his dagger--so he could sneak away. Escape. But no. Instead, I'd lead him to his doom. I can still feel his hands grabbing my hips, thrusting into me. I still feel the bite on my neck. Wonder if it's obvious that it's a hickey. Nobody's said a word about it. I'm getting hard. I grab hold of my cock with one hand and snake the other around to my ass. Touch my anus with two fingers. It's still sticky and still welcoming. I slide them up inside of me, feeling the slippery evidence of him.

I'm in tears by the time I come.

As I get out of the shower, the bosun's whistle sounds. I take my time walking over to the viewer, finally answer it: "McCoy."

“ _Dr. McCoy this is Spock_."

"I can see that. What can I do for you?" I reply with gritted teeth.

“ _The captain has ordered a staff meeting in precisely ten minutes_."

“Acknowledged, Commander. McCoy out.” I hit the switch as hard as I possibly can. Pour myself another drink and light up another cigarette.

*

I watch impassively as Kirk plays the video of the butchering of the _Rihansu_ for all assembled in the meeting, especially for the ones _lucky_ enough to not have joined the landing party.

“Mmm,” Kirk says. “Let’s watch that again, shall we?” He zooms in on the horrifying image of Ensign Chekov suffocating one of the enemy with what appears to be a plastic sack. _Oh my God_. I glance around the room at the delighted smiles as I swallow down the bile that's risen up in my throat. “Pavel,” Kirk coos. “Nice and slow. Look at that guy thrash around. That’s delightful--mmm. Got a couple of guards to hold him down for you. Nice. I think I’m going to increase your rank to Lieutenant, Junior Grade.”

“Aye, Keptin.” Chekov licks his lips.

Kirk reaches out and slaps me on the back. “And Bones here, laid a spider web and trapped that mother fucker--this is what we like to see in the Empire.”

I watch the video, watch the security men slice my lover’s throat.

“That was one strong mother fucker," Kirk tells the assembled. "Kinda cute, too. How did you smoke him out of there, without getting yourself killed, Bones?" Kirk asks me.

“I...don’t know, Captain. Just lucky, I guess.”

“Well,” Kirk says. “I think we also need to grant Bones here a field promotion. From Lieutenant Commander to Commander. What do you say about that, Bones?”

I opened my mouth and close it, then say: “I don’t want it, Captain. I'm content with my military rank as is, but thank you all the same.”

“Nonsense, Bones. I insist." There's no use arguing with the man when he's already got his mind made up. "Bones here will be hereby increased in rank to a commander. Tonight--we will have a ceremony where McCoy and Chekov both will receive your new stripes.”

“Thank you, Keptin.” Chekov is positively beside himself in glee.

"Dismissed."

*

In my quarters, I pour myself yet another glass of ale. That's the last of it and I'm no where near drunk enough. I sling the empty bottle down onto the deck. "You're a sorry excuse for Romulan Ale anyway. Fuck you."

I stumble over to my desk. Pull out my diary and the pen. Pen's out of ink. In a fit of rage, I stab the pen into the paper, stab and stab and stab and stab. I'm about to rip the diary to shreds when my door buzzes.

"Go away," I call out.

The door chimes yet again. They didn't fucking hear me.

I pop open the door. "What the fuck do you--" It's a young female yeoman. I stop short.

She holds up a hanger with some type of uniform hanging from it. "Here's your full dress, Doctor."

"What the hell for?"

"The ceremony tonight? This is your dress uniform. The captain has ordered--"

"Alright, alright, sweetheart," I drawl out. "I get the picture. Thank you." I rip the uniform out of her hands.

She wrinkles up her nose at my booze and cigarette breath, turns on her heel and leaves. My door slides shut in her wake.

I saunter over, sling the uniform onto my bunk. "The illustrious Captain James T. Kirk has ordered full dress to honor its brave doctor. Hooray for me." I flop onto the bunk, lay right top of the uniform and promptly pass out.

*

The dress uniform I wear is identical to Spock's regular uniform. That means Spock wears full dress all the time. How is that even comfortable? I adjust the black collar underneath the silk tunic for the thousandth time that evening. Kirk pins a medal on my chest. I will be expected to wear this medal at all full dress occasions from here on out. I want to fling it into Kirk's face.

Kirk turns from me and makes the proclamation to the crowd: “Henceforth, Leonard McCoy will be known as ‘Commander McCoy’, no longer as: ‘Doctor McCoy’. It is the least we can do for our little war hero. Pavel Chekov will henceforth be known as Lieutenant Chekov. So let it be written, so let it be done.” He motions to the assembled to stand. There is obedient, thunderous applause from the crowd.

I'm going to lose my professional title? I never agreed to that when I joined the Empire. When the noise dies down, I speak up in protest in counterpoint to Chekov’s mad grinning: “Captain, I beg of you. My usual professional title of ‘Doctor’ is sufficient. ‘Commander’ is unnecessary.”

“Oh no, McCoy. Not aboard this ship. ‘Commander’ it is. And that’s final.”

I glance down at my hands. I clench them into fists.

*

Of course there's plenty of booze and food after the ceremony--and guards employed to protect it from poisoning. I wish it was poisoned. I really do. I'd go and push them all out of the way and eat it first and die, convulsing like a happy man.

Kirk, Scotty and especially the newly christened Lieutenant Chekov proceed to gorge themselves. They get themselves rapidly drunk. The atmosphere grows increasingly rowdy.

I'm standing at the giant window--staring at the stars--sipping my brandy until I sense a presence at my elbow.

I turn slightly. Ah, it's Kirk's Vulcan accomplice. “Commander,” he says.

I bristle at the use of the new rank, but manage to get out, calmly: “Greetings, Commander Spock."

He and I are now on equal footing. His status as ship’s first officer might give him a smidgen of seniority over myself as ship’s physician-- as unneeded as I am--but not much. I no longer have to defer to him, don't have to salute him or allow him to walk through a doorway first or exit the lift first, or leave the room first, don't have to ask for permission to exit. Big fucking deal. My gaze travels down Spock’s uniform to his left hand, where he sports an Terran style wedding band. That's a new development. Not the marriage, but the Terran style jewelery, marking him as Kirk's. I know damn well the ring is not Spock's idea.

"I must congratulate you on your promotion," Spock tells me.

"Don't bother. It's unnecessary."

“You would be wise to hire a personal guard,” Spock informs me, bringing my attention back up to his face, then his eyes. “Your new rank places you at somewhat of a disadvantage.”

“I’m not concerned, Commander.”

Spock's searching my eyes. What the fuck is his problem? "Something the matter, Spock?" I ask.

He takes a breath and says: "Sometimes we in the Empire must... do things against our wishes. Actions that wound and crush our very spirits--"

I'm taking a sip of my drink and at that I laugh bitterly, spitting out some of my drink. "Our spirits? That doesn't sound very logical, Mr. Spock."

"Forgive me, Doctor, I was merely attempting to--"

"Attempting to what, Spock?" Looking back at the Vulcan, I'm reminded so much of my...former... nameless lover. Spock's got those...the same dark eyes that regard me so kindly, something in them...why is he staring at me like that? Same graceful pointy ears, same beautiful, angular features. "By the way, Spock," I bark at him. "You're now forbidden to call me 'Doctor'. Those are the captain's orders. See to it that you do not disobey him, or I shall be moved to report you."

I turn and stalk away from him, right on out of the room.

*

I walk past a yeoman who gives me the eye. I'm tempted to escort the young woman to my cabin, engage in a little fuck session. I could see myself--mouth on those tits, fingers up inside of her, shoving my cock into her, but no, I nod politely and go on my way.

I instead head to sickbay, prepare a hypo and give myself a shot of antibiotic--most likely the _Rihansu_ was carrying an STD--I could have easily contracted something that might make me uncomfortable or even kill me.

I need to start acting like a Commander of the flagship of the Empire, stop feeling sorry for my damned self.


	12. Chapter 12

In the days immediately following my promotion, I decide that things are going to change around here. The crew is going to learn to trust me. If it's the last thing I do, I'm going to get them to accept me as their physician. I'm not "The Butcher".

I've got everybody scheduled--all 300 of them. I will be working overtime for a few weeks but perhaps a yeoman and an ensign could help with charting. Besides, I welcome all the activity. It will keep my mind off of _him _.__

Unfortunately, I don't have autonomy as ship's physician. I'm required to run everything past the Fuhrer, I mean... Captain Kirk.

I arrive at Kirk's door. I nod over at Kirk's personal guard stationed outside. The guard hits the door chime.

"Come," Kirk calls out.

I enter. Kirk has one of the many attractive young engineering ensigns bent over the dining room table. Fucking into him.

I back away. "Captain, pardon me, I can see that you're busy. Some other time." I turn to go.

"Stay where you are, Bones." Kirk keeps thrusting into the young man. "Almost done here."

I don't know what else to do so I politely stand and wait--looking everywhere else but the sex going on--until Kirk comes with a grunt. I turn back when he slaps the ensign's ass.

The ensign pulls up his underwear and trousers and immediately vacates the cabin.

Kirk walks into his bathroom, calls back to me. "In here, Bones." He's expecting me to follow. I do, with reluctance. The bathroom is huge, as big as my quarters. Done up in black and white tile and chrome fittings much like my own smaller version. It has a separate large shower and huge whirlpool tub. I'm a little envious of that.

Kirk divests himself of his uniform, pitches it into the laundry chute. He stands in front of me completely nude. Large flaccid cock dripping semen. "My my, where are my manners? I should have asked you if you wanted some of that. Being as you're a heroic commander and all."

"Sloppy seconds?" I say with a harsh laugh. "No, thank you, Captain. I'm good."

"He's gorgeous, wasn't he, Bones."

"Wasn't really paying attention, Captain."

"Not as pretty as you, Bones."

"Thank you, Captain."

"What's the matter, Bones? You seem down."

I shake my head. "It's nothing."

"Why don't you make yourself useful and fill up my tub? That's a good boy, Bones." Kirk clambers into his stall as I perform the task. He takes a long steamy shower. I politely stand and wait. Finally he gets out. "Turn on the jets, Bones. Do you actually think I want to get into my whirlpool tub without those relaxing bubbles and jets pushing into my back?"

"Of course not, Captain," I reply flatly and turn on the jets. It bubbles up. Kirk gets in, makes himself comfortable. "Ahhh," he says.

I sit down on the edge of the tub. "Captain, the reason why I'm here--"

"Oh there's a reason why you've decided to pay me a visit, Commander?"

"Yes, Captain, there is--and about that, I--"

"What?"

"About this 'commander' business. I would prefer to be addressed as my professional title of 'doctor'. It is customary in the service that I may be--"

"Not on my ship. Commander. And that's final."

I sigh. "Acknowledged."

"That why you came here? To bitch about your promotion? You ungrateful piece of shit."

"No, Captain that's not why I'm here."

"Then why don't you spit it out, before I give you something to spit out. Commander."

I steel myself and say: "Well, when's the last time this crew has had their physicals?"

Kirk snorts. "Physicals?"

"Yes, physical examinations. I'm not counting the 'experiments' performed by 'The Butcher'."

Kirk folds his arms. "Oh, I see you finally discovered that little cabinet. Tucked away."

"You know about those?"

Kirk smiles. "Sure."

And was more than willing to subject his own crew to the horror. What kind of a man does this? Captain James T. Kirk.

"I want to perform physical examinations on the crew," I reply. "Not to torture them. Not to harm them. Not to perform nasty 'experiments'. I want to help them. And the best way I can help is that I need some kind of a baseline reading in case of future injury or disease or anything else unfortunate that might happen to a man. I require telemetry, data, tests to compare. Don't you want to know the status of your crew's health? What about your own health? Don't you want to know? Or you want a ship full of corpses? Want the captain's chair to be filled by a dead man? A stinking, rotting skeleton?"

"That would be fun. Strike fear in the hearts of our enemies. If the captain of the Enterprise was a skeleton."

"Captain. I'm serious. This isn't a laughing matter."

"The crew can be replaced."

"Then why am I here? Aboard the Enterprise."

Kirk smiles. "As my personal bitch, Bones."

Kirk's laughing at me but I'm not backing down. "What if there's several injuries or illnesses all at once. What if it's the entire bridge crew all at the same time? The captain? Or the first officer? During a battle? What if the communications console explodes on you. Or the library/science station suddenly arcs. Wiping you guys all out. Your life hanging by a thread, relying on the ship's physician to paste you back together. Sure I can save your life. But I'd do a damned better job of it, if I had data! You can't keep replacing everybody who drops dead, now can you? Not right away. Not all at once. And if you the captain, drops dead, then it'll be somebody else fucking your Vulcan. Getting their clutches in your captain's chair, making their own ass indent in your seat cushion. Sitting in your whirlpool tub."

Kirk raises an eyebrow, much like Spock does. He says in a bored tone: "Sure, I care about my crew's health." He flicks some water at me. I don't respond to that. "I suppose there's some truth to what you say."

"Of course there is. I'm a doctor, not an undertaker!" I'm wide eyed by now. A crazed animal. "I need to perform those physicals. I can't order them, I'm not allowed to. My hands are tied. YOU have to order them as per regulation 45.3A."

Kirk's dipping his hand down into the water, touching something down there, I don't really want to know. "I have to think about it, Bones."

I nod and stand up away from the tub. "Well then, I will leave you to it. Thank you for your time."

"Ah, no, Bones." Kirk snaps his fingers at me. "Come back here."

Dread fills my heart. "Yes, Captain."

"Get that uniform off."

I knew this would happen. I do so without a word.

Kirk is looking at my nude body with approval and with...lust. He reaches out to touch my hip. "You're lost weight, Bones. Don't you ever eat?"

I reply in all honesty, "No, not really, Captain."

"Doesn't matter. I like you all skin and bones." Kirk laughs at himself. "Bones."

"Yes, Captain, I get it."

"Oh well, do you also get the art of the blow-job? You can't seem to manage to get my first officer erect in your mouth, but maybe you can get me stiff."

What he doesn't know, is yes, I've gotten that first officer of his hard, very hard, engaging in some serious frottage. But if Kirk only knew, he'd strangle me to death right now, right here in this here tub. Maybe I should tell him. No, because he'd take it out on Spock, too. I also feel a twinge of guilt, I knew Spock didn't really want it. Not with me.

I try to lean over, wondering how in the hell I'm gonna manage to perform oral sex on our illustrious captain, when his member is submerged under water. I suppose I'm gonna have to hold my breath. But he tells me: "Oh you can get in, Bones. Join me. Why not." He motions to me with a grand gesture. I clamber in. Oh, it feels good. I can't suppress a groan.

"Nice, huh, Bones?"

"You get all the perks, Captain." I say, with a smile.

"That I do. I don't let Spock in here." Remarkably he allows me to relax in the hot bubbles for a few moments before he gets impatient. "Come here, Bones."

I slide over next to him.

He grabs onto my shoulder, whispers into my ear. "I'm already hard, Bones. Want that ass of yours."

"How do you want it, Captain?" I whisper back.

"James," Kirk breathes.

"James. Hey, are you gonna order those physicals?" Yeah, I'm already thinking I can barter myself for favors, like a Rent Boy. It would be worth it.

"I dunno, Bones. Make it good for me." He claims my mouth in a bruising kiss. Shoves his tongue into my mouth.

After a few more moments, he pulls me over and onto his lap. "Put me in."

I hold up a finger, then grab some of the shower gel nearby. I stand in the tub and lube myself up under his watchful gaze, making a good show. I finally inch back over to him and sit down on his cock. When it's fully sheathed inside me, I close my eyes. I can almost pretend it's my _Rihansu_ lover and it for a long time it is. I'm moving my hips in circles, head thrown back. I come with a gasp and a sharp cry out. I'm breathing hard, suddenly winded.

In an orgasmic haze I glance over and notice the first officer standing in the bathroom. My eyes travel up the long, lithe body, finally meeting his gaze.

He suddenly turns away and walks out.

I stop moving but Kirk clamps onto my hips. "Keep going," he pants out.

*

In sickbay, I've already got six 'no-shows in a row' and I'm seething. I flip on my viewer. "McCoy to Captain."

" _Yes, Commander, what is it_?" He's eating, chewing with his mouth open, in his bridge chair.

"Why aren't the crew showing up to their physicals?"

" _I don't know, Bones_." Kirk keeps chewing. Chomp. Chomp. Chomp.

"I had six scheduled today and not a damned one has shown up."

" _Face it Bones, you're just not well liked. Are you. I mean, I wonder what it would be like to actually be you. Everybody thinking that I'm a loser, hating me like that. Like they do you._ "

"I'm not aboard ship to win any popularity contests, Captain. I want those physicals!" I dare to snap. "McCoy out!" I hit the off button with a fist.

I turn around to find the sweating, scowling, scarred face of Commander Sulu.


	13. Chapter 13

"Ah, Mr. Sulu," I reply. I'm hoping he did not notice me practically leaping out of my skin. I hadn't heard him sneaking up behind me. "Greetings. I see you've come for your physical exam." About fucking time somebody shows up.

He glowers at me, folds his arms, like a recalcitrant child.

"Well," I continue, folding my arms too and trying to show him that he doesn't at all intimidate me. Not one little bit. "The exam will commence in the ward. It's over here."

"I know where the ward is," he hisses.

I nod. Of course he does. He knows this place only too well. And not for the right reasons.

"Do I have to take off my fucking clothes?" he demands.

"Just your tunic, leave the rest on." I don't want to make him feel any more vulnerable than he already does. I glance over and notice Sulu's personal guard lurking in the shadows. "Not your turn yet. You can wait out in the corridor," I inform the guard.

Sulu clenches his fists. "My guard stays with me."

"He doesn't stay, Mr. Sulu."

"He fucking stays, you goddamned quack."

I roll my eyes, then reach over to flip on my viewer. "McCoy to Captain."

" _Kirk here. What it is now, Bones_?"

"Do the exams include personal guards attendance in the case of a senior officer?"

There's a sigh on the other end. " _Who's the pussy who brought along his guard_?" He notices Sulu standing behind me. " _Oh_." He chuckles. " _Mr. Sulu, kick the fucking guard out_." Kirk slurps on a cup of coffee. " _Let the doctor do his thing. Whatever that may be_."

"Thank you, Captain. McCoy out." I spin around to face Sulu. "Well?"

Sulu looks positively murderous as he nods at the guard, who promptly exits. Sulu then follows me over to the ward. I point him over to a biobed. "Wait there. I'll be with you shortly."

I'm leaning over, grabbing my type II scanner and other various equipment that I will require, when I feel myself slammed against the bulkhead. Oh, I see. Sulu wants to play games. Fight a little bit. Trying to assert his dominance. He's strong, up against me. Is that his hard penis pushing against my ass cheek?

I manage to reach back, get a good grappling hold, throw him over my shoulder. He lands hard on the deck.

I slide my dagger out from its sheath. I straddle his hips and hold the knife to his neck. "You may not know this, Mr. Sulu. Let me inform you. I am an ex-con from one of the toughest prisons in the Empire. I've never been raped in prison and there's a good reason why." I sneer at him for emphasis, flash my eyes.

After a few moments of this, him wide eyed and unsure if I might actually kill him or not, he finally acquiesces. "Fine. You win, Doc."

"If I let you up, are you gonna knock off the shit? Exam won't take long. Then you can be on your merry way."

"I said: 'fine'."

"Alright." I get up, let him up.

He finally pulls off his golden sash and red velour tunic, throws them onto a nearby chair. "Y'sure you don't want me naked?"

"Not today, thanks." I smile again, before putting my dagger away.

"Which bed?"

I point. "This one."

He clambers on, face down.

"Sulu, turn over."

"Oh. RIght." He flips over for me.

I raise an eyebrow. "You get exams from the old doc, fully nude?"

He doesn't answer me but says: "I thought you were gonna be swift, Doc."

I'm already scanning him. "Yes, I did say that." I glance up at my large scanner. Several badly healed injuries. "Broke a femur and a tibula/fibula I see." Femur isn't healed properly. Could do with a resetting and proper regen. "Does it hurt when you walk?"

He shrugs. "I dunno."

Broken fingers, also badly reset. "Hurt when you perform your duties? Push buttons? Write with a stylus?"

He shrugs again.

Not talkin'. Alright. "How old are you, Sulu?" His physical age, according to my scanner, is forty-two.

"Thirty one," he says. He's not lying, it says so on his chart, but I'm just trying get him relaxed. His teeth...several of them appear to have dental carries.

"What are your favorite hobbies, Sulu?"

"Fucking and fighting, Doc. What else?"

"I dunno, Sulu. Thought maybe you like to read, or listen to music."

"No."

"No?"

"Maybe, I like music."

"Oh yeah, what kind?"

"Classical. Bach. Beethoven. Nobody knows that about me."

"Oh well, there's nothing wrong with classical music. Anyway your secret's safe with me." I'm now scanning his face. The injury there, a slice, from eye to chin, had been inflicted by a scalpel, infected with a pathogen, then stitched up almost haphazardly, then allowed to fester and badly heal. There has been severe trauma to the jaw which has been broken in several places, sliced with a medical grade laser. This is what "The Butcher" had done to him. Scanner also shows an STD. I prepare a hypo.

"What are you doing, Doc?"

"You pissing razor blades, Sulu?"

"Why?"

"You know you have gonorrhea?"

"Gonorrhea?"

"Yep. The ancient disease." I shoot him with the hypo before he can squirm away from me.

"What the fuck was that, Doc?"

"A heavy antibiotic. Wait ten minutes, the gonorrhea will clear right up."

"That fast?"

"Yes, that fast." He's darting his eyes around. "Everybody you've had sexual contact with has got it too," I inform him. "They're gonna have to come in for treatment."

"I don't remember who I've fucked."

"Well, in case you eventually do, tell them they need to come pay me a visit. Honestly. It's one simple treatment. Better than suffering in silence and infecting the whole ship, right?"

"I don't care."

"Course not. Alright Sulu, you can get up now."

"That it?"

"Yeah. I have everything I need."

"You don't want...to do anything else?"

"Like what?" I know what he's referring to, but I want to hear him tell me. I see the flash of pain across his eyes. "Sulu. I can help you. Fix that." I motion towards his face. "I know your injuries are causing you an extreme amount of agony. You need surgery to fix them, properly. Get rid of the pain."

"There's nothing you can do for me, Doc."

"Bullshit," I reply. "I just cured your fucking gonorrhea, don't tell me there's nothing I can do."

"Leave me the fuck alone, Doc." He stands, dons his red tunic and sash.

"Tell your friends," I inform him. "I'm a doctor, not a butcher. You got that, Sulu?"

He looks back at me but that anger of his is completely vanished from his features. "Alright, fine, I will."

And with that he's gone, outta sickbay.

*

At 15:00 hours I'm sitting at my desk, when the door to sickbay opens. I glance up. It's Captain Kirk.

He swans in, stands in front of me and grimaces. "Hello, Doc."

"Oh, now it's 'Doc'?" I say, but soften the sarcasm with a small smile. "What happened to 'Commander'?"

He waves it off and says in an unusually soft voice. "Oh well...y'know. In your sickbay. You can be the doc, if you like. I'm giving you permission."

"Oh, why thank you, Captain," I reply. "You're not scheduled for today--for that physical, but I most certainly can fit you in. Right this way, Sir."

He follows me over to the bio bed but stops me with a hand on my arm. "Keep this confidential."

"I always follow doctor/patient confidentiality. It's part of the job, Sir," I inform him.

He smiles, a real smile and I smile back, almost forgetting I'm dealing with one nasty individual. But then he sobers. "I didn't come for the physical, Doc."

"Oh? You have another medical complaint?" I hope that it's something to do with medicine and not that he intends on fucking me over one of the biobeds.

"Yeah, uh...I uh...y'see...uh...." He seems awfully bashful.

"Captain, it's best if you come right out and tell me. I've seen everything. Heard everything. Nothing surprises me."

"I'm pissing--well, y'know. It's hurts when I--"

"Razorblades? Daggers? Burns like a motherfucker?"

"And there's green stuff coming out of my dick."

"Ohhh, too bad, Captain. I wish there was something I could do for you."

"Oh no, you gave Sulu something. I want that too."

I'm already preparing the hypo. "You fuck Sulu?"

He shrugs.

I sigh. "Am I gonna have to treat the whole fucking ship?" That's means Spock is probably suffering and as usual not saying a goddamned word about it. "Thanks a lot, Captain."

"And you're probably infected, too."

"Ah, I already have an antibiotic in my system from uh...."

He chuckles. "Oh. Sulu got to you already."

"I might have caught it from you." I hit the hypo against his arm. "Tell Spock to get his ass in here, pronto. Captain. Anybody else you've had sexual contact with in the last few days?"

"I'll tell them."

"How many are there?"

He grins. "A few."

I grumble, rub my face and go over to my bottle. "Want a drink, Sir?"

"No. Oh. Bones. I almost forgot. You know how to cook, right?"

I shrug. "You mean food? Like in a kitchen? Well, it's been a long time. Cooking skills aren't really necessary aboard a vessel. Not for a doctor, anyway."

"But you've cooked from scratch. With real ingredients."

"Well, sure. Why do you ask?"

"I need you to report to the captain's galley to prepare my and the first officer's dinner tonight. 17:00 hours."

Kirk's walking to the door when I rush over and stop him. "Wait a minute, Captain. You want me, the ship's physician, to cook your meal? What happened to your personal galley cook?"

"Oh, uh. He's uh. Dead."

"He's what?"

"Dead. From the Booth. He didn't last long."

"Why did you put him in the booth?"

"I didn't like last night's offering. Tasted like shit."

"Captain, I'm a doctor not an executive chef. My cooking isn't gonna fare much better. Why don't you assign the job to a crewman or a yeoman or an ensign. I'm sure they'd be thrilled to--"

Kirk pokes me in the shoulder with a finger. "Report at 17:00 tonight. Don't be late. See to it that you brush up on your culinary skills. For your own sake."

He's out the door in a flash. I yell in his wake: "Yeah, but what about the physicals?"


	14. Chapter 14

At precisely 17:00 hours, I report to the captain's galley as ordered, canceling the rest of the planned physicals for the evening. Not that I believe anybody else would have shown up, but I was heartened by Sulu--maybe he'd convince some of his cronies that sickbay was no longer a torture chamber. 

It's amazing, the stock of real food in this galley: Expensive cuts of steak, fish and other meats. Fancy vegetables. Several ingredients, spices, real sugar which is rare. All types of fruit. I pick up an apple, a goddamned real apple. I marvel at its color, size. Wonder if it would be worth fifteen minutes in the booth to scarf this thing down. I set it back down. Maybe not. I haven't had any decent fruit in ages. Only thing keeping the scurvy away are infrequent nutritional supplements. Staring at all this stuff--I'm a raving, hungry animal now. The hunger pangs hit me, hurt like hell. 

Kirk hasn't told me precisely what to fix, other than the aforementioned make it good for him. But what about the first officer, shouldn’t dinner be good for him, too? 

“Computer,” I mutter, absently, chewing on my thumb. “What the hell do Vulcans eat anyway?”

“Vulcans are vegetarians,” the computer informs me, then proceeds to rattle off a list of suggested Vulcan dishes.

“Vegetarians?” I say. “You sure about that, Computer?” The times I’ve spotted Spock eating in the officer’s mess, always alongside the captain, he wasn’t eating vegetarian food. It was a meat dish--or what passes as meat on this ship, reconsituted garbage. However, I don’t know what the former galley cook had fixed for him when he joins his husband for their evening meals in quarters.

“Affirmative,” the computer says.

“Well then, what was that first dish you mentioned? Plomeek soup? How do I fix that?”

The computer obediently tells me. 

“Do we have the ingredients for it in the galley?”

“Negative.”

I hit the shiny metallic counter with a fist. “Dammit.”

“Ingredients are available in ship’s stores.”

“Ship’s stores?”

“Affirmative.” 

That means I will have to pay for the ingredients out of my own credits. “How much, Computer?”

The computer tells me. 

“Alright. Fine. Take it out of my fucking pay, computer. Be my guest. Beam it into the captain’s galley, immediately.”

“Working.”

Within a minute, the ingredients to Plomeek Soup materialize on the countertop. 

After a while it's all ready to go. Alright. Kirk is getting the best steak in his larder and Spock is getting a Vulcan dish. Here goes nothing.

The captain is growing impatient, it’s plainly obvious when the comm beeps in the galley. I answer it and say in an exaggerated upbeat tone: “Yes, Captain.”

“Where the fuck is it? I’m starving.”

Me too. The aroma of the steak is making my mouth water. I can barely stand it. “I’ll be right out, Sir.”

“Better be.”

I select a bottle of very expensive Terran red wine. Cabernet. Vintage 2060. I open it up, take a sniff. Damn. Maybe I should sneak a glass of this stuff. I think about being a smart ass and going out to the table and saying: ‘Hi, my name’s Leonard and I’ll be your waiter this evening.’ However, Kirk is not that kind of a captain, not that kind of a man. Not a friend to joke with. Not like my former commander.

I saunter out to the captain's cabin, bringing out a bowl of salad and the wine. At the dining table, the obnoxious candelabra is lit. Kirk and Spock are sitting on either end from each other, like married couples do in old movies. Most of those couples seem downright unhappy--and most likely subconsciously, these two are channeling that precise mood. 

As I pour the wine into Kirk’s goblet, he scrunches his face as he sees the label. “That’s my most expensive vintage, Bones.”

“I thought you would enjoy it, Captain. It’s open now. You might as well drink it.”

Kirk holds up the goblet, sniffs it, swishes it around, looking at it. “I’m trusting you not to poison me. Actually no, I don’t trust you. Take a sip, Bones.”

Oh, gladly. “Yes, Captain.” I take that sip. I close my eyes a moment to savor it. It’s delightful. How long has it been since I've had a glass of wine? Real wine? 

“Alright, alright, Bones, I meant a sip, not half the fucking glass.” 

“Would your first officer care for some?”

“Spock doesn’t normally--but you know what-- yes, he will have a glass.”

Spock raises an eyebrow but does not protest. I go over to the Vulcan, pour out a small measure into his goblet. He nods at me but doesn’t drink it. I know he'd prefer water, but I smile all the same.

I set the bottle on the table. “I will be right back with your food, Captain.”

“Uh huh.”

I head to the galley, retrieve the dishes, quickly return to their table. I present the captain with his steak, medium rare, mix of several vegetables, including rare asparagus which you cannot obtain anywhere this side of the galaxy-- and mashed potatoes with pats of butter in little shapes, cornbread, a small plate of cheese and grapes. 

“Hmm. Very simple, Bones.”

“Well, I thought of fixing an ancient southern Old United States delicacy for you, Captain, but I decided that you wouldn’t appreciate it.”

“Probably not.”

Before he eats, Kirk insists that I take a small bite of everything I serve him to check for poison. I most happily oblige. 

I return yet again to the galley, pick up the first officer’s dishes. Present the soup to the Vulcan. I mutter under my breath. “I hope that you will enjoy it, Commander.”

Spock seems positively shocked. “Plomeek soup. How did you--?”

I don't let him finish but walk away, over to Kirk. “Is everything to your liking, Captain?”

Kirk’s scowling at his meal and I know I’m trouble. “Bones, these mashed potatoes are lumpy. I don’t like lumpy. You didn’t mash them enough.”

“My apologies, Captain. I'll take it back and re-mash them.”

“Forget it. This tastes like shit.” He slams down his fork with a loud clunk. 

“Is the steak alright, at least?”

“It’s okay.” Kirk waves off the bowl of mashed potatoes. “Take this away.”

“How about a baked potato instead, Sir? Scalloped? Some other vegetable, perhaps?”

“Just get these lumpy potatoes out of my sight.”

“Of course, Captain.”

I take the bowl of mashed potatoes back to the galley, hurry into the oven a large russet potato. I lean down on my elbows, to wait. I spy the bowl of mashed potatoes, the pat of butter on the top placed oh so delicately, that has melted just so. When I had tasted them them before the captain--taken that torturous, teasing bite, they were exquisite. I’m so completely fucking famished, staring at this food, smelling the melted butter. I select a spoon, then glance back towards the galley door. I should be concerning myself if the captain and first officer are doing alright--some 'waiter' I make. Oh well. I'm already getting the booth. What's five minutes more? 

I dip the spoon into the mash potatoes, shovel them into my mouth. Ummmmm. 

I’m half way through, gobbling them down like there’s no tomorrow when I hear a throat clearing behind me. I drop the spoon, it clatters on the counter. I turn around. 

It’s Spock. “I have come to see if the captain’s baked potato is ready for consumption.”

I flash him a guilty glance as I open up the oven. I pick up the steaming potato with a set of tongs. Place it onto a plate, open it up and place a pat of butter on top, some sour cream and chives. “Here it is, Commander.” 

“I shall serve it to him,” Spock informs me.

“But what about--Sure, go ahead.”

“I will inform him you are busily involved with preparations of the captain’s dessert.”

“Dessert?”

“The captain always consumes chocolate cake for his dessert,” Spock informs me. 

Oh right, that goddamned infamous chocolate cake. I’d forgotten to bake the cake, how did I forget to-- “I...I...” I stammer. “That’s gonna take 45 minutes at least. Does it have to be chocolate cake? Don’t you have a tub of ice cream in the fridge? Flan? Pudding? Slice of peach pie? Apple strudel?”

Spock glares at me a moment. “Kirk always consumes cake after his evening meal. Freshly baked chocolate cake is his favorite. Nothing else will do.” He points to a drawer. “The recipe is in there.”

As soon as Spock leaves, I’m muttering: “Well I’d better get on it, then.” I slam down a large metallic mixing bowl. 

I'm digging through that damned drawer--can't find anything that even remotely resembles a cake recipe by the time the first officer is back by my side. "How'd the captain like his baked potato?" I snap.

Spock shrugs. "I am to retrieve a bottle of Romulan Ale. The captain shall be selecting a new galley cook for all future meals."

"Hey, I did my best."

"As you have clearly demonstrated, you are a doctor, not a cook." 

"I can't find the fucking cake recipe. I've looked everywhere."

Spock reaches up to the shelf above, picks up a container of cocoa. "Never mind. I have the recipe memorized."

With the Vulcan's assistance, soon all the ingredients are in the bowl, then the bowl is put into the mixer. After a while, I pull out the bowl from the mixer's clutches and study it--Spock leans over as well. Unbelievably, the Vulcan dips two fingers into the mix, pulls them out, covered with chocolate, then proceeds to slide them into his mouth. I watch. I know there's a hungry expression in my eyes. Seeing those long fingers in his mouth, licking them with a green tongue, holy hell. A lust filled tingle runs through my body. 

"I hope your hands are clean," I say with mock disgust to cover up my arousal. I pull the bowl away from him, pour the mix into a pan, then shove it into the oven.

Kirk's on his third glass of Romulan Ale by the time the cake is brought out to him, all warm and delicious, with icing dripping down. The odor of it wafts through the cabin. "About fucking time, Bones."

"Sorry, Captain."

Spock takes his place at the other end of the table as I serve Kirk his fucking piece of cake. I place the rest of it on a special display stand in the center of the table. No one else besides the captain gets to eat the chocolate cake. "Would you like some coffee to wash that down with, Sir?" I offer.

"No." Kirk doesn't demand that I or Spock taste the cake first. He takes a bite.

"Well?" I ask him.

He doesn't say anything. Which worries me.

"I followed the recipe, Captain."

"So you did, Bones."

Well at least he's eating it without much complaint, along with slurping down another glass of ale. He's spouting out verbal abuse to me, but I don't care, I simply nod and agree with him: What a cunt I am. A worthless piece of shit. More verbal assaults on my character. Just keep drinking that booze and eating that cake. "Another slice, Captain?" If somebody really had wanted to poison him, the cake would be the perfect opportunity. He doesn't make anyone taste it first.

"Uh huh."

Kirk's gobbling up his second huge piece, the cake blacking out his teeth as what usually happens with him and his precious cake. I guess he must like it. Well, good for him. He's drunk. Very drunk. Drunker than I have ever seen him. Slurring his words as he speaks, pointing, gesticulating, making pronouncements--threats and promises. Suddenly he rocks back and forth, finally leans forward, landing face first onto his slice. The rest of his ale dumps out from the goblet, spilling onto the table. The candelabra's flames flicker wildly for a few moments.

Spock jumps up, goes over to assist the captain. I'm right there, too, wiping up the liquid. 

"Jim?" Spock says, sitting him up. Icing covers the captain's mouth. Spock takes the cloth napkin, dips it in a water goblet, wipes his face. 

Kirk's muttering, laying his head on Spock's shoulder. "Spock, I love you, Spock."

"I know, Jim. I know."

"I wanna go...to bed. Come to bed with me."

"Alright, Jim."

I don't react to their intimate mumblings as I grab onto the captain's waist, assisting Spock in standing the captain up, maneuvering the man over to his huge bed. Spock lays him down, removes his clothing. "The captain does not normally get this inebriated at meals," he explains to me as he does so. "This was because his food was not ready on time."

"I'm sorry, Spock," I reply, and I mean it, too. "I tried my best."

"I am aware." Spock sits down on the bed next to the passed out captain. 

I motion towards the dining table. "I'll start the clean up." I collect the barely eaten food dishes and take them into the galley. I leave the cake where it is. I suppose it can be wrapped up and placed in the fridge. Maybe Kirk can have it tomorrow with his morning coffee. I notice that Kirk barely touched the steak. It's cold now. I look at it a moment--decide to reheat it. I take a bite. My eyes nearly roll into the back of my head, the steak practically melts in my mouth. "I'm gonna get one hell of a belly ache from all this rich food," I whisper to myself. "And it will be worth it."

"Odd, stomach ailments do not seem appealing to me," Spock says from the galley doorway. I put down the fork, begin cleaning up the dishes. "You do not wish to finish the steak?"

"It is not my place," I say. 

Spock nods his head in agreement but takes over the clean-up. He watches me a moment. He walks over to the wine bottles, selects another vintage red, a Pinot Noir, brings it over, opens it up. He pours me a glass.

"The hell you doing?" I ask.

Spock raises a defiant eyebrow and pours a glass for himself. He clinks mine with his in Terran fashion. 

"Ah," I say. "While the cat's away the mice will play."

We leave the galley and move to the dining table, with our bottle of wine. I'm on my second glass, Spock's still nursing the first. He sits down in his chair. I stand next to him, noticing the cake. It's got to be moved to the fridge unit. I go to pick it up, then hesitate. "Spock. Would you like a slice of cake?"

"Cocoa in chocolate cake makes me intoxicated," Spock replies.

"So, is that a yes, or a no?" I'm already going and getting him a plate. I serve the slice, set it in front of him. I hold up the silver eating utensil.

"Only the captain is allowed dessert after his meal," Spock is still protesting.

"He's passed out drunk, Spock," I whisper. "Unless he's got a monitor trained on us."

"I shut it off."

"Well then. What he doesn't know won't hurt him." I hand him the fork. 

Soon he and I are sharing a second slice. And I'm finishing up the bottle of wine. I'm sitting part way on the table, leg hitched up, in an effort to relax. Spock reaches out and touches my hip. "Do not sit on the table."

"Sorry, I'll pull up another chair."

Spock shakes his head, grabs me, pulls me onto his lap. I freeze for a moment and wonder if sitting in the captain's husband's lap is wise or not--I know damned well it isn't--but I capitulate. Of course I'm as drunk as the first officer. Soon I'm feeding the captain's husband bites of cake. Holding up the fork and shoving it into his mouth. "Cocoa really makes you intoxicated?" I breathe out.

"Um hum," Spock says.

I like having his genitals pressed up against my ass, his chest up against my back, but I decide I'm not really attracted to Spock. I'm just projecting my silly feelings for the dead Rihansu onto this similarly featured Vulcan. Plus this is the captain's husband I'm tempted to fool around with--even drunk, I can control myself. Well, sitting on his lap isn't controlling things very well, but it can't get any further than this. He doesn't do anything else physically--as much as maybe I want him to--doesn't touch me with his hands, but we begin to have more of an intimate conversation.

"So, how is being married to the captain, so far?" I say casually, noticing for the thousandth time since he'd gotten married, his wedding ring. I even dare to reach over and touch it with my finger, caress the gold. He doesn't stop me. Goddamn, we'd be tortured and beheaded for what we're doing right now.

"It is...alright."

"Happy? Satisfied?"

Spock shrugs. 

“I know you wanted the ceremony held on Vulcan," I say. "But I was honored to stand up for you. Witness it."

"The ceremony was humiliating," Spock says and his voice cracks almost imperceptively at that. "My family was appalled."

"I know Spock. Am I'm sorry that it had to happen under such offensive circumstances. But the ceremony--believe it or not, while it was occurring, it actually felt dignified to me. For what it's worth. You made it dignified. At any rate, the marriage itself is far more important than any ceremony to make it official.”

Spock seems to shrug. “I was...gratified that you were present. At the ceremony.”

I was also present at the consummation, I don’t mention that however and I know that was even more humiliating for him--horrific more like. Kirk is a monster and I don't understand Spock's attraction to the man other than the power, but it's none of my business.

“Why did you obtain a divorce from your own spouse?” Spock asks. “It is not logical to end a marriage. No matter how unhappy you were.”

“I didn’t file for divorce,” I reply. “She divorced me.”

"Divorce is illegal on Terra."

"Not in some cases."

“I fail to comprehend the reason why a marriage would end.”

Ordinarily I'd rather not discuss it--I'd put up a fuss rather than do so-- but I'm currently three sheets to the wind. "You want to know why, Spock?"

"Yes."

"It's a sad story."

"Tell me."

"Alright. I’ll tell you why, Mr. Spock. Well, to start it off, my wife's name is Joss."

"Joss?"

"Short for Jocelyn."

"Ah."

I get up from his lap, stand there and glance over at the flickering candles. "We were married for about year when she got pregnant. We had a daughter named Johanna. 'Jo' for short. She was...beautiful. Looked just like me. She had this lovely white easter dress...and...little fluffy bunny stuffed animal that I bought her, she carried around constantly, dragged this thing around, almost as big as she was... and... One day, when Johanna was... eighteen months old, crawling, I came home from a long shift at the hospital. I find her--” My voice cracks on that. “I find her laying on the living room couch...cyanotic... not breathing. Don’t know where her mother is. I'm screaming 'Joss!"and I don't know where she is. I perform CPR and I can’t bring Jo back. She’s already brain dead."

"Dead?"

"Dead. The Gestapo suddenly shows up with my wife in tow. They find me trying to bring my baby back to life, holding her lifeless body in my arms. They arrest me. I get put on trial, then I'm quickly sentenced to life in prison for murder. Life in prison. I wished they would have executed me. I live with the memory of my beautiful baby. Instead of watching her grow up, I relive picking up her body, cradling it. My defense attorney was a fucking joke. And the law is, if I am in prison for murder, Joss has grounds for divorce."

I blink, my eyes are wet, but there's no more tears these days.

"You did not kill your child."

"No I did not. Definately did not murder my own daughter, my own flesh and...." I gulp. "I tried to save her, but she was already...."

“You were set up.”

“Affirmative, Mr. Spock,” I reply tightly. “I don't have proof, but I know my ex-wife murdered my daughter in cold blood--smothered her... but...nobody would believe me...nobody would listen to the truth...nobody gave a goddamn.” I stare up at the ceiling. "They still don't."

“Your wife married another.”

“A month after I was incarcerated, yes.” I flash him a grim smile. “Isn’t that funny?” I stare down at my wedding ring. "The captain's right, I'm pussy whipped for not taking off my own wedding ring. I haven't ever been able to bring myself to do it. Maybe I should do it now." I slide it off my hand. Hold it up in my fingers. 

Spock stands up to face me, takes the ring from me. "You loved her."

"I still do. She murdered my child--but I still love her. It's been how long...that day repeats in my head and I miss my wife and my baby and--"

"You are not ready to remove your ring. Therefore, I believe you should not do so." He takes my hand, slides the ring onto my pinky. “I grieve with thee,” Spock says. 

I meet his eyes, then nod. I gather up the dishes, take them into the galley, wash them. I come out to the dining table, wipe up the mess. When all looks presentable, I inform the Vulcan: "I'll retire to my quarters."

"I will accompany you."

"No, that's alright, it is completely unnecessary. I can make it back, just fine." I feel down at my hip, my forgotten medical pouch. "Oh, I nearly forgot." I draw out a hypo. "Give me your hand."

He does. "What is that?"

"Antibiotic," I inform him. Spock nods, he knows what it's for. 

I walk over to the sleeping captain. Check on him. He's okay, but he's gonna be one hung over son of bitch tomorrow. 

I nod over at the first officer. "Goodnight."


	15. Chapter 15

Even before I open my eyes, I know I’m in my bunk. Don’t remember how I got here, but without a doubt, this is my quarters.

I shift a little and press my ass up against a warm body. I'm not alone. I must have taken somebody to bed last night. Whoever it is, they feel damned good. It's a male, I can tell that much by the hard body. I take a few moments and simply enjoy the sensation of physical contact like this in bed. Been a long time since I’ve woken up with anyone. Curiosity gets the better of me. I roll over to see who it is.

It’s Spock.

My heart begins to race. I stumble out of my bunk, getting twisted up in the covers, landing onto the deck. With all the commotion, the first officer sits up, leans over to peer down at me. He looks kittenish, lazy, sleepy. He yawns, but seems to be in terrible shape, not how I would expect him first thing in the morning. His hair is a mess like it should be, but he appears uncharacteristically haggard, his face is pale, splotched with green. It's more angular than usual, his eyes are dull, sunken in, looks positively skeletal... However, he was drunk last night and I've never seen him hung over before.

“Spock,” I say from the deck, I don't move and it hurts my jaw to even speak. My voice is husky but it's rising to a panic. “What the hell are you doing in my quarters?”

“Sleeping in bed with you, obviously.” Spock’s voice is bizarre, raspy, too, seeming entirely too unconcerned.

I’m wearing my underwear and nothing else. How do I wake up in bed with Spock and don’t remember a fucking thing?

“We had sex?” I blurt out frantically.

“No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” My mouth is dry. Goddamned vintage wine. “Kirk is gonna have my head on a platter.”

“We did not copulate.”

“How the fuck do you know, you were as drunk as I was!”

“I remember everything.”

“So what did we do, stumble back here to my cabin and go to sleep? That's it?”

“Essentially.”

I’m still laying on the deck, tilting my head back. The cabin is spinning, I feel...oh...my body aches. Romulan Ale doesn’t even affect me this badly, however I did consume a ton of wine, ate real food, all that fucking chocolate cake, probably gonna have diarrhea to match the asshole pounding my head with the sledgehammer. I find my crumpled uniform on the floor. I manage to dive into my trousers and tunic. Fuck the rest of it.

"Kirk is gonna throw me in the booth and leave me there, do you know that, Spock?"

Spock doesn't say a goddamned word in response. He gets out of bed with considerable effort, stepping right over me, stumbling more like, his gait like a zombie. He’ got his trousers on, but he's bare chested. It doesn't matter if we didn't fuck, this looks bad enough--I roll my eyes at that, and even that hurts like a son of a bitch--ostensibly to my bathroom to freshen up and get his uniform back on, then get the fuck out of here before his husband...his husband finds out where he’s been all fucking night.

“Get me a glass of water, will ya, Spock?” I'm still slurring my words. I'm terribly thirsty. Tongue feels thick.

“Uh huh,” Spock grunts out and I’ve never heard him sound that way, but I’ve never slept in bed with him before--which can be more intimate than fucking and I wish he’d get the hell out of my quarters, because we are both in deep shit and--

I hear the loud sounds of vomiting emanating from my bathroom.

Shit, Spock is ill. I need to go to him. I try to clamber up to my feet but I can’t. My limbs are like jelly. My mind is spinning as I'm trying to ascertain what the fuck is wrong with the both of us. This feels worse than the standard 'hangover'. “Spock?” I gasp out. “Spock?”

I eventually give up trying to walk and actually crawl on my hands and knees over to him. He’s curled over the toilet. I rub his back as he continues. Finally he finishes. I pull his head back to wipe his face and see the blood. He’s throwing up blood. His face looks like death warmed over. He wavers in my grasp, cries out, convulses, then passes out.

My hands are shaking. I need to find my type II scanner and I'm frantically pawing around looking for it, can't find it. Poison? It might simply be a foodborne illness resulting from any number of pathogens such as Campylobacter, Clostridium, Salmonella, Staph, E. Coli or Erelius T or Norovirus or some type of parasite. Who knows how fresh that food really was? Maybe some type of organic toxin? A hunch says a non organic cause of these acute symptoms seems more likely.

Poisoned with what substance, I don’t know yet. By who?  And in what?  Last night I was the one doing the cooking in the galley--I supervised all of the food. Was it the wine?  That wine was sealed up in bottles until I opened it.  Spock wouldn't have.  Kirk couldn’t have done it-- unless his sympoms of intoxication last night weren’t from booze and he’s dead right now. I'm an idiot and a incompetent doctor for not thoroughly examining him beyond a visual inspection.

With everything I have, I crawl over to my viewer. “McCoy to Captain Kirk.”

There’s no answer from the captain and I’m certain that he is dead. Oh no. Why didn’t I examine the man more closely when he'd passed out from what I assumed was alcohol intoxication? Last night he needed my help but instead I was flirting with Spock, fixing the Vulcan his Plomeek Soup, drinking Kirk's wine, eating his steak and indulging in slices of luscious cake.

In my head I run through all the likely suspects: Sulu or Chekov, most likely. Kill Kirk and advance to the captaincy. Kill off the First officer and ship’s physician too, then you can move in all your cronies to the top positions. Who to facilitate it? One of them?  Or did a henchmen sneak in before I arrived? One of the guards? The Vulcan slave?

I try again. “McCoy to Captain Kirk.”

Again, no answer from Kirk. Much as I hate the man, I’m devistated.

I double over in pain for a few moments. I need help. After the wave passes I say: “McCoy to Transporter Chief Swenson.”

No answer.

“McCoy to Bridge, Lieutenant Uhura, come in please.”

“Bridge, Uhura here.”

Finally. “Uhura, where’s Captain Kirk?”

“Unknown at this time, Commander McCoy.”

How could she not know where the captain is? She has to know. “Bridge this is an emergency. Locate Captain Kirk. Have transporter room, locate and beam Kirk, Commander Spock and myself into sickbay, stat.”

“Acknowledged, Commander McCoy.”

I collapse down next to the unconscious Vulcan and wait for the beam to take hold. It never comes. Something’s wrong. Chekov or Sulu is most likely countermanding that order. Spock’s kidneys are going to fail if I don’t do something.

I finally manage to get to my feet, stagger to the door. Spock obviously didn't bring his personal guard with him last night. There's nobody on duty outside. I spot a figure in a red shirt. “Scotty,” I call out. He comes closer, stops. “Scotty, get in here.”

He seems unsure of what to do next. After what seems to be an extended mental struggle, he finally does glance both ways and creeps over to me. “Yes, Commander McCoy?”

I grab the chief engineer's arm and unceremoniously drag him into my quarters. The door shuts behind us. “Help me get Commander Spock to sickbay. That's an order!"

He stares a hole through me, oddly hesitates.

“Well come on!” I say.

“Aye."

We hurry to my bathroom. Spock is conscious again, moaning. He's frothing at the mouth. Green blood drips from his nose. I motion to Scott to grab the Vulcan's other arm.

"He's gonna be fucking heavy, on a count of three...one, two, three..." I stagger to my feet with one of Spock's arms and a hand around his waist, Scott with Spock's arm slung over his shoulder. Together we drag the first officer out of my quarters and into the nearest turbolift. "Sickbay!" I scream out.

The doors open up on level 7. Scott releases the Vulcan's arm. "I'm uh...sorry, Commander McCoy."

"Don't let go of him, Scotty, you gotta help me get him to sickbay."

"Aye, I'm sorry. I can't."

He holds his hands up, starts to back out of the lift. I shout after him. "Who's ordering you to let us die?!"

"I'm sorry, Commander McCoy." He leaves us there in the lift, walks away. I watch the chief engineer disappear down the corridor. The doors try to shut but I hit the override.

Spock's fallen unconscious again. I kneel down and slap his face. "Spock get up. Walk to sickbay, come on, Spock, you can do it. Come on walk to sickbay. You can do it." After what seems like an eternity, Spock rouses, opens his eyes. "Spock stand up. Help me get you to sickbay. You're dying. Get up. Get up! Spock stand up." Spock lays there, watching me, an odd expression in those dark orbs. "Spock come on. Get up." He finally obeys, manages to get his feet under him, push himself up with my assistance.  "Help me out here, Spock.  We're going to sickbay.  Sickbay, Spock.  Let's go, Spock." It's like a mantra.

I slide an arm around his waist, then pull his arm around my neck before he shrugs me off.

I protest: "You're gonna collapse if I don't--"

"I will walk to sickbay. Unaided," he rasps out.   I know why he's doing this, he needs to give off the appearance that all is well to any more passing crew. "You will do the same."

My god we both must look like something the cat drug in, he and I-- but we both walk, trying not to stagger, to sickbay, side by side, without touching.

I can't bear to tell him his husband may be dead. I despise Kirk with every fibre of my being but the pain of losing a spouse, that is too much to bear and I weep for Spock.

*

Spock and I are suffering from acute Ethylene Glycol poisoning. It is an old substance, something they used to put into a liquid known as antifreeze. It has a sweet taste. Which is why we didn't notice when we ingested it.

Unfortunately there is only enough EG antidote in sickbay set aside for two humans--Spock requires a stronger dosage than a human. There isn't enough left over to cure me. It is no matter. But the captain, I don't know what's happened to him...need to find out....

The poison is working its hideous way through my system, I can feel it's nasty tendrils. Getting harder to form thoughts. I'm growing weaker by the minute. I've been trying to hold it together to take care of Spock. Blood continuously drips from my nose. I hurt so bad. My bowels, my kidneys, my limbs.

No sooner than I press the hypo to his arm and hear the telltale hiss, I fall to the deck.

*

I know I'm dead because I see the phantom Captain Kirk sitting at my bedside. I can't move a muscle. I'm nude under the covers and he's pulling them down, exposing me, touching me, wrapping his hands around my cock, stroking it, getting it hard. He's talking to me, I'm responding but I have no idea what I'm saying--I'm babbling. We both must be in hell together.

This is hell, Kirk jacking me off for all eternity.

Spock what's happened to Spock? He has to be alive, I gave him the antidote-- I hope you pulled through my dear, beloved Spock and I hope the captain will stay here with me and never hurt you again.

*

I open my eyes. I'm in sickbay, reclining on of the ward biobeds. Spock is sitting at my bedside.

“I administered the remainder of the antidote to you,” Spock informs me. "However it is not proving to be enough. Your kidney's are in process of shutting down. I do not know how to further treat your symptoms."

Hmmmm. I must say, Spock looks a damned sight better. Beautiful, almost. I reach up to touch him. He's alive and well. Nice green tint to his skin. Doesn't appear to be dying any longer. Kirk may be dead but Sulu or Chekov didn't manage to kill off this tough ol' Vulcan. I don't have much longer to live, but at least I am victorious. "Jim is..." I manage, using the much too familiar nickname I'd heard Spock use last night.

"The captain is alive."

He is? "How? How?" I try to sit up.

Spock pushes me back down. "Instruct me on how to treat you, McCoy."

"Let me die, Spock." Kidney failure is a peaceful way to go. Perfect.

Spock purses his lips. "Sleep, Commander McCoy."

*

I open my eyes again and it's Kirk sitting at my bedside with a PADD. He thrusts it out to me. "Sign this."

"What is it?" I rasp out.

He slaps me hard across the face. "Don't ask me what it is."

"You want me to sign it, I want to know what it is."

"It's a confession."

"For what?"

"You know what. Sign it."

"I'm not signing anything, Captain."

Kirk holds up a glass of water. "Thirsty?"

Oh am I ever. I try to get it from him. I am thirsty. He pulls the glass back. Teasing me.

"Water, please," I beg of him. "

"Sign the confession, first. Then you get your water."

"No."

"Sign the confession."

I must be crazy, delirious, don't care, because I eventually do take the stylus and put my name to whatever is on that PADD. I finally can have my glass of water. Please. I'm so thirsty. I reach out for it.

He grabs the PADD away from me, then throws the water into my face. It drips down to the bed.

Kirk chuckles as he walks off.

*

So apparently I'm the scapegoat for poisoning the first officer. Kirk is trying to pin this on me. I know damned well it wasn't me.

*

Spock is sitting at my bedside again.

"He's accusing me of poisoning you," I hiss at him. "I told you he'd have my head on a platter. He thinks there's something going on between us. This is his way of warning me."

"Say that again and I shall slice your throat."

"It's true. He did it and is trying to pin it on me. I know it."

"You are the most likely suspect. The charges shall stick."

"Why?"

"You were galley cook that evening. You have access to poison. And, apparently you confessed under Kirk's questioning."

"When did I confess? I was delirious half the fucking time. Why would I poison you and then myself?"

"You have a death wish. And along with yourself, it proved convenient to attempt to murder the captain and the first officer."

"Then why would I bother administering to you a goddamned antidote?"

"Unknown."

"You don't really believe I tried to kill you, Spock?" I stare hard at him. "Do you? Then why did you save me? So I can be put in the booth for your entertainment? Is that why?"

Spock gets up from my bedside and I scream in his wake: "You enjoy watching me writhe in agony, you fucking monster!"

*

I don't believe my kidneys are functioning at full capacity. I'm most likely in renal failure. I have no data--the telemetry has been shut off. I piss myself and it's agonizing and I cry out and the odor smells awful. My skin is itchy. Hands are puffy. I bet my blood pressure is off the chart. Somebody cleans up my mess--I think it's Spock--I dunno.

I'm half aware being pushed out of the biobed by a contingency of security men. My hands are bound and I'm marched fully nude through the corridors to the booth. I can barely walk and I stumble.

There's smug grins and smirks among the crew as they watch my ordeal. An example is being made out of me. Ha ha ha. Yet another doctor bites the dust.

I resolve to give up the ghost inside that booth. Don't fight death. Just let it come. I want off this crazy ship so bad I can taste it.


	16. Chapter 16

I'm faintly aware of my being placed on another bed. I’m being poked and prodded by somebody’s probing, warm hands. There’s a mumble of concern about my delicate physical health from the poison, my declining kidney function, my state after my stint in the booth. I can't open my eyes. My mouth is dry, tastes awful.

I expect I was removed from the booth in much the same way I was placed into it. In the arms of several burly security men, who probably had their wicked way with me when left alone. Wonder how many dicks were forced into my mouth and ass.

I laugh at that, then I cry out from pain and there’s hands on me again. Rubbing on my chest, my face, my hair. The hands seem intent on soothing me. 

It’s exactly how Joss used to touch me sometimes and suddenly I’m back in Georgia and I’m in bed with her, shaking. She’s got her arms around me, holding me, asking what’s wrong. I tell her it was a damned nightmare that’s all it was, that ISS Enterprise, that horrific death ship-- now hold me tighter, even tighter and she does, almost crushing my ribs. The baby cries, I hear Johanna squalling oh poor thing-- I clamber out of bed and go to her crib. 

I lean down to pick her up, grab at her. But there’s nothing just air, my hands pass right through my child. Why do my hands pass through my baby? _Oh god I can't feel her... I can't feel anything..._

I scream in terror and there’s a cool cloth on my forehead and a whisper, high up from that hilltop, so far away that I can barely hear it: “Instruct me on how to treat you.”

Every time I mutter, cry out, fight back with feeble arms, there's that mantra, growing louder and louder and louder like a thunderclap: "Tell me how to help you."

I try to cover my ears but I can't move. Stop. Stop. STOP.

I don’t want to be treated, don’t want to be helped, don’t want to be cured, I want to go back to Georgia and stay in that bed snuggling with Joss. Forever. 

Leave us alone. 

*

There’s another pair of hands roaming all over my body. Different from the last. Not soothing at all. Angry hands. Rough. They’re gripping my shoulders tightly. Squeezing. Fingernails breaking the skin. It hurts and I try to squirm out of the grasp. 

A voice above me says: “Captain, you cannot continue to push this man in this way. We will lose him.”

“I’ll do what I like.” There’s a slap on my face, then an all out stinging back hand. “Wake up, Bones.”

But I don’t wake up. I refuse to. I let the force of the blow dissapate through my senses.

Somebody is doing something to me. It feels good, then it hurts again. Owwww. 

There’s that pleading voice again: “Jim, please do not-- he is not well enough for--”

“Shut up. Shut up. Your love for this pathetic excuse of a man can't help him."

"My love? No Captain, you are mistaken. My loyalty is only for you."

"Bullshit. What if I want more than your loyalty--I see the way you look at him."

“Jim, please. I am yours."

*

With great effort, I am finally able to open my eyes. Sickbay. Strapped onto the biobed. I’m stark naked and it’s fucking freezing in here. I can't stop trembling. 

I'm not alone. There's a figure keeping vigil. Standing at attention, eyes on me. Spock’s guard. The other pointy eared menace aboard this ship. The one without the beard. Not allowed to have one. The lowly Vulcan slave. Never has said one word to me. Doesn't even get to wear a uniform. Merely a boiler suit. Wonder if he feels as trapped here as I do. Or if he's happy here. Can't tell one way or the other. Maybe Spock's a good master, doesn't mistreat him. I never see any bruises, cuts on him. The slave notices my moving around, glides over to use the wall intercomn. He presses the button, talks into it, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. 

I feel a sharp twinge in the glans of my penis. I glance down and discover I’ve been catheterized. In two places. Through my urethra along with a peritoneal incision. What the devil? I’ll be damned... I’m actually hooked up to a goodamned bag. I lean my head back, try to see what’s cycling on the monitor above my head, it doesn’t appear to be working properly as usual. Monitor is showing that dialysis is being performed. Dialysis?

Within moments, Spock is at my side, the guard having apparently been dismissed. “Greetings, McCoy."

I glare at Spock. “You didn’t do this right, I don’t need to be catheritzed in two places. What the fuck is wrong with you. Through the urethra into the bladder is redundant. Peritoneal incision through the kidney is sufficient-- if you absolutely had to go there, you fucking asshole.”

Spock comes closer, sits down. Not in the chair next to me, but on my bed. I feel the cushion dip as he makes himself at home. I feel his thigh brush against mine. "I wished to make certain your urine was properly cleansed. The poison appears to be cycled out of your system, but your kidney has not regained function."

“How are you feeling, by the way?" I ask him.

"I am fully recovered."

"And practicing medicine without a license,” I keep grumbling. “No clue as to what the fuck you’re doing. Just taking stabs in the dark. Two fucking places you got me cath’ed you mother fucker, did you even scrub up properly or am--.”

“Agreed, I am not a doctor so I must do as I am able. You are alive are you not?” 

“Against my will. How'd you learn to do this, anyway?"

“I looked up treatment on the library computer. I am aware that the procedure is archaic, painful and not ideal in this situation. But until you educate me on the proper procedure to restart kidney function I am forced to rely on other means of treatment.”

“You have no right to keep me alive. I poisoned you, didn't I? Should'a let me expire in that booth.”

Spock shakes his head, smirks in that way that makes my blood run cold, he knows I didn't do it. “Death is much too easy for you, McCoy. I shall not allow you to utilize it as a means of escape. You will not leave this ship.”

“Not even in a box,” I say, with a scowl.

"Not even in a box. McCoy, instruct me on how to restart your kidney function.”

“Eat shit, Spock,” I reply.

"I have ways of forcibly obtaining the information from you if need be," Spock says. "It will not be pleasant."

"I suggest you do so, then. I won't willingly divulge."

Spock rubs his hands together and flashes me a chilling glance. “In due time. As of now, I will continue to cause you much discomfort from the dialysis procedure. Consequently you shall be confined to sickbay for the duration.”

I have the last laugh. Dialysis itself isn’t as painful as he thinks-- the incision is but not the procedure-- but he doesn’t know that. "I take great joy in knowing that you have to empty my urine bag several times a day. I hope it spills all over your precious uniform. What are you gonna do when I have to take a shit?"

"You already have." Spock arches an eyebrow at me and walks away.

*

Kirk’s sitting at my bedside. He flashes me a genuine, almost sweet smile that reaches his eyes, but it still unnerves me. I give him a weak salute. 

He glances down at my naked body, then grabs onto my hand, holds it. As weak as I am, I can't move to disengage. “You have an awful lot of tubes running out of your body, Bones.”

“Especially when my ‘doctor’ doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing,” I retort. 

Kirk laughs, squeezes my hand hard. “You feel like ice. Want a blanket, Bones?”

No, I don’t want a blanket from him, but I can’t disguise my shivering in here. 

"Spock," Kirk looks over at Spock standing with arms folded in the doorway. "Give the man a blanket. Or do you enjoy staring at his naked cock as much as I do?" Kirk reaches out with a solitary finger and touches my penis. "What's that tube running through your dick?"

"Urinary cath, Captain," I reply. "Through the urethra. Don't touch it, you'll give me an infection."

"Funny Bones, you seem to think you can order me around. Nearly kill my first officer and...."

But he doesn't go any further than that, merely gets up and leaves sickbay. 

"You gonna get me a blanket, like the man said?" I call out to Spock.

He doesn't. "Good evening, McCoy. I shall return."

Hours later the first officer does return. But now he's sporting a split lip, a black eye and a far away expression in his eyes. Doesn't speak for long moments, until he says, gruffly: "I will remove the catheters as requested. Your care will be assigned to Lieutenant Giotto. He is not medical, but of the science section under me. You may...die if you so dearly wish to. Renal failure is a pleasant, relatively pain free and dignified way to go as I have discovered via the computer."

Spock reaches down to remove the tubes. I catch his arm. "Listen carefully. Ten cc's of Retinox Alpha, 10 cc's of Amoxin D, 30 cc's of Libelex. That's a compound, mix that with 50cc's of simple saline. Hypo set at four. Let me check it. Alright?" 

Spock nods. 

He hesitates, then reaches over and undoes my binds. 

*

Fully recovered, I leave sickbay. I can't wait to return to my quarters, take a long hot bath. I suddenly realize that I don't stink like excrement or BO--wonder if maybe that damned Vulcan gave me sponge baths. Nah, he wouldn't do such a thing. Would he? 

I reach my cabin but there's a guard stationed in front of it. I recognize him to be Sulu's guard.

"You're in the wrong place, Son," I inform him.

"Negative sir," the guard says. "This is Commander Sulu's quarters."

"Get the fuck out of here," I reply. 

"Sir, this is Commander Sulu's quarters." He points to the wall plaque. Sure enough, it's been changed to 'Commander Sulu'.

"Oh," I mutter. "Jim Kirk wants to play games, fine." I walk to the wall comm at the end of the corridor and hit the button. "Alright, Captain, you've kicked me out of my cabin. What am I doing? Bunking with you and Spock?"

"Your berth is located in Junior Territory, Lieutenant."

"Captain, this is Commander McCoy, stop fucking with me."

"There's been some change since you've been in sickbay. Figure it out, Lieutenant. Kirk out."

Oh, I get it, I'm being busted down to Lieutenant. Like I really fucking care. I sigh, mightily.

* 

I finally locate my new berth, on deck 8. I hit the button to the cabin and it occurs to me when my belongings were relocated by quartermaster, they most likely were rifled through and piffled, so I'll be minus my ale and cigs. I just hope they left the diary and my toiletries the hell alone.

I enter and it looks like I'll be sharing with several others, I see four berths in here. Great. I'll be sleeping with my knife in hand. I'm 21A and I locate what appears to be my bunk. Linens and my pillow are stacked up ready to be made up. Just like prison. I check the drawer. My duffel bag. I open it and miraculously my diary and my deck of cards are still there. Pen is missing, toiletries, booze, cigarettes are missing. Well.

There's somebody sitting on the adjacent bunk, wearing a blue velour tunic. He notes my commander's stripes, immediately clambers off, gets to his feet and stiffly salutes, his gold sash swaying. 

"Oh, no, no," I say with a chuckle. "This commander thing didn't work out. I need a uniform change. I'm Lieutenant McCoy, ship's physician."

"So you're a doctor?"

"That's right."

The other lieutenant relaxes, reaches out to shake my hand. "Lieutenant Giotto. Ship's geologist."

"Yes, Commander Spock mentioned you. But I have never made your aquaintence before now."

"I'm new. Just arrived a few days ago."

"Oh, I see."

We stand there a few moments blinking at each other. Then he says: "Would you like a drink, Doc?" 

"Goddamn, I thought you'd never ask." I hold up my deck of cards. "Five card stud?"

He laughs, picks up his bottle of whiskey. "Looks like I've found a new friend."

I smile in response.


End file.
